


For Unity

by BabyCharmander, Jaywings



Category: The Dark Crystal (1982), The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Lobotomy, Canon Compliant, Decapitation, Eventual Friendship, Friendship, Gen, Illustrations, No Romance, Original Flavor, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Punishment, Two Words: More Puppets, Violence, Visions, puppet shows
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2020-10-29 15:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 62,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20799170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyCharmander/pseuds/BabyCharmander, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaywings/pseuds/Jaywings
Summary: One was as vile and repulsive as his brethren. He murdered, and maimed, and reveled in it.The other was as slow and indirect as the rest of his brethren. He hated his dark half as much as the others did theirs.But who they were did not matter, for Thra saw its moment, and seized its opportunity.





	1. That Ancient and Most Sacred of Arts

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya folks! BabyCharmander here writing this author's note. Here's a new work for you, in a new fandom... And a friend! This fic is co-authored by Jaywings and me! We've been doing this for a while but this is the first we're actually ready to post, haha.
> 
> Like a lot of you, both Jaywings and I really liked skekGra and urGoh and wanted to learn more about them, so we decided to write our own take on their backstory... 
> 
> Also, this fic is illustrated! I drew the cover, and Jaywings did the illustration in this first chapter.
> 
> Thanks to ThePrairieNerd for beta-reading!
> 
> Please enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Conqueror demonstrates his painting and puppetry skills.

_ _

_The sky had been a dark crimson that early morning as the triple suns rose, a deeply foreboding sign for many._

_For skekGra the Conqueror, one of the sixteen Lords of the Crystal and a regent of Thra, known far and wide for his prowess in battle, it was as if the very elements had already known the outcome of the approaching battle and were lamenting it._

_He took it as an indication of great fortune._

SkekGra ran his tongue over his fangs, seeing it all again:_ the flashes of sunlight on the line of his army’s swords and armor as they crested the last hill and gazed down at the red-tinged Silver Sea lapping the shoreline, where their quarry had set up a last, desperate defense. He had arrived with two other Skeksis and a convoy of Gelfling castle guards and volunteers—a small battalion to be sure, but more than was needed for such a task as this._

"Can I get anything for you, my lord?"

The sudden voice made him give a start, blinking, the thick paintbrush clasped in his talons pausing in its careful application of pigment to canvas. He peered over his shoulder; a Gelfling had entered the room, looking up at him earnestly.

"Oh! Hm. Yes,” skekGra said, with a glance down at the dish holding his—for lack of a better word—_paint_. “Fetch me more water."

"Of course, my lord. It's good to have you back, by the way."

He nodded. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the Gelfling scurry away, before he turned his focus back to his canvas and dipped his brush in the bowl, swirling it around.

Some artists enjoyed charcoal. Others used clay, and still others delighted in pigments made from berries and flowers.

SkekGra certainly had his preferred medium.

On the canvas was an image of his own likeness—the first thing he always painted when beginning his personal works. Eventually there may be a few of his other Skeksis brethren behind him, just to stop their whining. For now, though, he would keep himself standing alone. Below himself, he was beginning to paint another race—this one short, stout, and hunchbacked. Their arms were strong, their fingers deft, but their strength and wit were no match for his. And in this painting, they would be depicted bowing to the Skeksis. To him.

"Your water, my lord."

Nodding briskly without looking up, skekGra set the pitcher next to the bowl that contained his congealing paint, ready to thin it out when necessary. His spines bristled briefly at the realization that he was being observed—but, noting it was merely the servant, he smiled and went back to his work. "Come on, you can watch if you want."

"Thank you, my lord." The Gelfling stepped closer, looking on in silence for a moment. "Those are…?"

"Gruenaks," he answered. "We hoped to... ah... _ally _with them. But they proved to be enemies of the Skeksis, and thus of the Crystal." He regarded the Gelfling seriously. "They have been dealt with, Vapra."

"O-of course! I would expect no less of the Conqueror."

His tongue poking out from the side of his beak, he retrieved a smaller brush—this one fitting neatly onto the end of one talon—and started in on depicting the Gruenak’s faces. He had to get the expression just right, exactly the way he remembered it. He could see in his mind’s eye the twenty or so remaining survivors of the Gruenak tribe in a loose formation down on the glittering sand of the beach, staring up at them with their eyes wide and terrified, lips pulled back over blunt, harmless teeth as they took in the might of the army that had come to meet them, framed by the blazing suns and the blood-red sky.

He pondered his easel. Should there be rain in the painting? The real battle had started off on as clear a morning as he had ever seen, before dark clouds rolled in from over the sea and obscured the three suns, and the heavens of Thra had opened up in a deluge. His skin felt clammy even now at the recollection of his robes plastered to his frame and giving him the appearance of a drowned fizzgig, his feet skidding in the mud and blood while his tail dragged through the muck behind him. Everyone struggled to fight through the storm; yet he managed better than all of them, cutting down any enemies that stood before him with his newly-sharpened blade, which had been whet with stones from the very mountains under which these vermin had attempted to seek shelter.

Oh, how he had _missed_ this. After what seemed like endless trine of pursuing Arathim, here finally was an enemy whose face he could see. The Gruenaks proved far better foes than the Arathim had ever been. It was not, after all, so satisfying to squash a bug.

The rain had even given his army an advantage in the end, despite his commanders skekVar and skekUng taking it in turn to whine about it to him (oddly, the Gelfling had never complained, while his fellow Skeksis seemed to consider it a proper pastime). The Gruenaks, technologically-advanced as they were, had brought fierce machines to do their fighting for them. But many of the machines failed to operate in the rain, and the weaponless Gruenaks had been forced to make a stand on foot with whatever they could find to defend themselves.

The corner of his mouth quirked. The weaklings had no fight in them. It could hardly even be called a battle, really.

_It was a slaughter._

The thought had come from nowhere, and the force of it shocked him to his core, making him catch his breath and pause in his work for a moment with his hand trembling. The Vapran Gelfling was alert at once.

“My lord Conqueror?” it asked, its airy voice tinged with concern.

“It’s nothing, Gelfling, I’m fine,” skekGra said, giving a quick shudder to rid himself of the unpleasant sensation. The Gelfling took a step back, still looking uncertain. It didn’t seem at all intent on leaving—maybe he should send it off somewhere. SkekGra wracked his brain for what the Vapra’s name was but came up with nothing. Well, he could hardly tell the Gelflings apart anyway.

He tried to focus back on the painting, which swam before his eyes. What in Thra had just happened? For just the barest instant he had felt it again—a strange hollow feeling in his chest, like someone had dug their claws in and ripped something out while he still breathed. He coughed, his throat rasping, and in a burst of frustration grabbed his thicker paintbrush and jabbed at the painting, leaving a dark streak where he hadn’t really intended to put one.

SkekGra glared poison at it as though the harmless mark were to blame for all his recent troubles.

“Are you… _quite_ sure you’re all right, my lord? Is something bothering you?” the Gelfling asked tentatively. “Should I call for someone?”

“No need!” skekGra said sharply, forcing himself to take measured breaths and regain his composure. Whatever this was, he would deal with it later. “It’s only from a lack of sleep and a good meal, which I will soon have at the feast tonight.”

He took care not to look the Gelfling in the eye. For if he did, it might see that his mind was not, in fact, on the feast they would surely be having in his honor, that it wasn’t some_thing _that bothered him, but some_one_…

Hatred boiled in his gut. This must be from_ his_ influence. His _compassion_—a vile word that made him bare his teeth and let out a soft snarl of contempt—his_ weakness_. The unexpected encounter must have affected him more than he’d thought. He needed to be rid of it.

Well, tomorrow morning he would rejoin the Ceremony of the Sun with the others and be purged of this sickness for good by the Crystal. Until then, he must betray nothing, must only give the outward appearance that the battle had been a conclusive victory, that all had worked out, that everything had gone according to the needs and wants of the Skeksis.

And _that_ memory—the tail end of the battle, the brief period where skekUng and skekVar had been looting the bodies for spoils, and the Gelfling had regrouped to talk amongst themselves and clean their weapons, and he had been alone, or so he thought—that memory would be shoved to the back of his mind, where it would rot and be forgotten. It was over and done with, and would become entirely unimportant by the time the first sun rose tomorrow, and there was nothing he could do about it now anyway.

He needn’t concern the Emperor or the General with trivial matters. SkekSil especially should hear nothing about it, as he was likely to look far too deeply into it and end up causing more problems for skekGra than he had started with. The shifty Chamberlain had seemed eager to get in his good graces the last time he had been at the castle, as well, perhaps hoping for favors or spywork. At least this time he hadn’t seen a sign of skekSil since he’d arrived back at the—

"_Conqueror_!"

SkekGra bristled and the Gelfling turned in surprise to see another Skeksis in the doorway, his brilliant red robes standing against the shadows of the castle.

"SkekSil," skekGra acknowledged. By the Greater Sun, it was like he’d been _summoned_.

“You have returned!” the Chamberlain exclaimed as he crossed into the room. His eyes darted over the clutter of dusty canvases and scattered art supplies, his brow wrinkling slightly, but the tone of his voice remained sickly jubilant. “Apologies I was not there to greet good friend Conqueror. I was under impression you were not due back until rise of first moon tonight.”

“The battle was shorter than we expected,” skekGra said. Almost imperceptibly, he stood a bit straighter as he resumed painting, allowing him to turn and look down his beak at the newcomer. He was slightly taller than the Chamberlain.

“Ah yes, _yes_, should have guessed. Yet, no one told me you were back already. In _fact_—” the other Skeksis took in a whistling breath through his nostrils, squinting up into skekGra’s face. "I have even heard that friend skekGra has reported to Emperor _without _friend skekSil, _hmmmm_?" he said.

SkekGra’s talons clenched on his paintbrush.

SkekSil’s jaw parted in a simpering smile, which he aimed toward the Gelfling. “Your attendant need not stay, surely? You—Conall, isn’t it?—” The Vapra servant nodded, “—Go, please. Conqueror and I, we have much things to discuss.”

Conall the Vapra made a small bow to each of them, uttered a quick thank you to skekGra for showing his newest work, and hurried from the room under the Skeksis’ close watch. The Chamberlain, in turn, sauntered further across the floor, his eyes glinting in the light from the window. He craned his neck to peer at the canvas over skekGra’s shoulder and let out a satisfied _hiss_.

“Another successful conquest, hmmm?” he said. “How excellent! Is best if have all been eradicated, yes, lest Gruenaks’ dangerous machines be used against Skeksis. Though, it is _almost_ a shame, if none were brought back as slaves. Would have made valuable servants, with such knowledge of metal and machinery. And they are not talkative!”

SkekGra clicked his beak, forcing out a snicker. “Ah, they could have given you lessons.”

“_Yes_, of course,” the Chamberlain continued, taking a step backward; if he was annoyed by the comment, he didn’t show it. “But oh, Conqueror, why must I find out about Skeksis victory by lovely painting and not hearing for myself? Why was Chamberlain not present during report to Emperor?”

Turning away from the canvas again, skekGra flashed him a grin, letting the light catch his jagged teeth. “I don’t know, skekSil. Why was Chamberlain not present during battle with Gruenak? _Hmmmm_mmmm?”

The other Skeksis ducked his head and blinked owlishly. “_Battle?_” he crooned. “Oh no, no. Perhaps in light of own achievements, Conqueror has forgotten? Emperor strictly forbade me from going into battle, yes! Many trine ago! I am not fit for war! Am not strong like Conqueror or General, or especially Hunter. I would be viciously dismembered by Gruenak machines, or _worse_!”

SkekGra let out a light chuckle and eyed his painting again, scrutinizing the dark, drying marks for any areas of detail he’d left out. “Do not worry, skekSil, I jest, I jest! There are few Skeksis I would take with me into battle, and you—” he turned quickly and prodded the Chamberlain, who had ventured much too close again, in the chest with his paintbrush handle, “—were _never_ among them!”

The Chamberlain let out a horrified, undignified squawk and checked over his outer garments for paint drips, though any spots would be difficult to see on his red robes.

"But really, I would have told you all about it if you had been _there_," skekGra went on. "I went to the Emperor as soon as I returned, and he didn't want to wait. I suppose we forgot to send for you." _And you might have suspected I was hiding something in my report, Chamberlain. That sounds like you._

"Hmmmm. I was with Gourmand, making sure plenty food would be prepared for friend Conqueror's arrival. If only I had known had returned already..."

SkekGra’s eyes brightened. “The celebratory feast?”

"Yes. With roast nebrie, fresh from Podling village, special for Conqueror. I was hard at work with _much _preparations for skekGra!"

"Well..." SkekGra smiled. "I guess you'll just have to hear all about the battle at the feast tonight. I have a _show _prepared."

"..._Yes_," skekSil said, tipping his head. "Friend Conqueror is most kind and creative. Will see you at feast."

With that, skekSil finally stepped back out of the room, and skekGra turned back to his painting at last. He caught sight of the inside of his paint bowl and huffed, prodding the hardened pigment with a claw. SkekSil had kept him talking for too long—he didn’t understand the care that needed to be taken with this particular medium. Grumbling, he poured water into the bowl to thin it out again.

Blood had the annoying tendency to clot.

* * *

This was almost his favorite part of any conquest: the triumphant return to the Castle of the Crystal, the welcoming feasts held in his honor, and the artistic treat he would be sure to give his fellow Skeksis every time.

Tonight his audience consisted of nine other Skeksis, mostly talking amongst themselves but a few watching him with expectant, beady eyes over hooked beaks. They all sat along the curved table at the front of the hall, waited on by bustling Podling servants while a small group of other Podlings hovered over the music machine in an alcove at the top of a set of stairs, waiting for skekGra’s cue.

He stood in the center of the room, facing the table with a covered object next to him, and cleared his throat loudly; the idle chatter died away and every eye focused on him.

“Fellow Skeksis!” he cried, brandishing his arms. “Podlings! Gelflings! ...Gelflings? Are there any Gelflings here?” He glanced around but spotted none, and felt oddly disappointed. “Have we stopped allowing Gelfling in the Banquet Hall since I was last here?”

“Gelfling made one too many derisive comments about our eating habits,” skekOk called out from one end of the table, in a clipped voice. “They were _rude_. Now they are forbidden!”

“It’s just as well,” skekSo said. He sat in the place of highest honor at the table’s center. “I did not get any joy from watching _them_ scarf down their food, either.”

A few along the table let out creaky laughs. Seated at skekSo’s right side, the Chamberlain slowly stirred his bowl of boiled crustaceans and swamp weeds with the utensils on the ends of his claws. Though he wore his usual smirk, he did not laugh with the others, and his narrowed eyes were fixed on skekGra.

“Come _onnn_,” skekLach complained from the other side of the table, in the midst of hacking into an old handkerchief that had probably once been white. “Are we watching a show or what? Give us some entertainment!”

“Yes, of course! But first…” SkekGra made a grand, sweeping gesture with all four arms and a ripple of crimson robes. “Fellow Skeksis! Podling slaves, one and all! I present to you my latest work… the Conquest of the Gruenaks!”

With a single smooth motion he grasped the tattered cloth covering the object next to him and ripped it away, revealing his newest painting. A collective “Ooh!” issued from a few of his audience members’ beaks.

The finished painting—monochrome, of course—depicted himself standing triumphant over the vanquished Gruenaks, who bowed to his glory. Behind him he had squeezed in some of those who had joined him in battle: skekVar and skekUng, who were as similar as they were different and had squabbled constantly as bitter rivals, yet both fought like warriors against the enemy. He had even included a number of the Gelflings who had fought by his side (none of which could speak a word of Gruenak, of course—he had handpicked them all with that very requirement). The whole thing was likely his greatest composition yet.

“Why, that’s _wonderful!_” skekEkt exclaimed in delight. “Do one of me next, I want a portrait!”

There was a chorus of agreement as everyone clamored for a picture of themselves, to which skekGra bowed deeply.

“My lords! You must know these things take time! The arts are simply my hobby, not my greater role to benefit all Skeksis,” he said. “But if my Emperor wishes me to paint portraits for you, I will.”

All eyes turned to skekSo, who stroked the side of his beak thoughtfully. "Perhaps," he said, and the Ornamentalist clapped his talons in delight. “Once there are no more _important _matters to attend to."

"But of course, sire!" SkekGra gave a short bow. "Nothing is more important than bringing every inch of Thra beneath our Emperor's rule. And speaking of..."

A brief glance was all it took for the Podling slaves in the balcony above to begin beating against the instruments, producing a crude tune that slowly rose in tempo and grandeur (or as close as simple Podlings could get to such a thing). In turn, two other Podlings quickly wheeled out a well-sized, mobile puppet stage, which they then ducked behind.

With a flourish, SkekGra pulled away the curtains on the stage to reveal a landscape painting (disappointingly made with common pigments). Next, he swiftly produced two objects out of his pockets, keeping them hidden behind his back. “Behold the spectacle of my greatest show yet: The Conquest of the Gruenak, in _puppetry form!_”

The music swelled, and he showed the first object: an intricately detailed wooden puppet of himself, which he made to march onto the stage. With another musical flourish, he brought the second object forward—this one a marionette, the appearance of which made the majority of his brethren lean forward in interest, skekOk adjusting a couple pairs of his glasses.

Unlike the first puppet, this one was made of more... _interesting _materials: fabric torn off the garments of a Gruenak, and a body made of segments of carved bone, taken from the same creature (with a great deal of satisfaction on his part). Even if the others couldn't see these details for themselves at this distance, they were familiar enough with his artistry to know the materials he enjoyed working with.

“Pay close attention!” skekGra continued in a cry, really warming up now. “I’ll be requiring _audience participation!_”

Everyone slumped backward with audible groans.

What followed was a mostly unscripted, blow-by-blow account of the battle, illustrated with the standard, intricate puppets he used for every show (the one of himself, and two Gelfling puppets), along with the couple that he had put together during the carriage ride back home. He had his Podling assistants act out a few of the simpler, background roles, and also put them in charge of effects—which turned out to have been a bad idea, as half the time they forgot their cues and he had to work around their frustrating clumsiness. He left a few choice details out of his performance while ramping up others, keeping one eye trained on the Skeksis to gauge their approval.

A few seemed to grow bored as he carried on, apparently more interested in the nearest tureen of soup or other delicacies than in skekGra’s hard work. However, he glimpsed the shadows in the wide doorway behind him shift slightly and noticed skekTek slip into the light—late to the feast, as he often was, but drawn from his lab below by the smell of food and now watching the performance with rapt attention.

His production gradually expanded from the stage to making the puppets run along the banquet table, forcing a few Skeksis—namely skekAyuk—to yank their plates away from him with noises of protest. As his manikin self fiercely battled Gruenak machinery he attempted to have several Skeksis pretend to be Gruenaks and set up obstacles along the table, though the response to this was lackluster at best and downright contentious at worst, so he dropped that tactic.

“Ugh. Isn’t it _over_ yet?” skekLach griped to skekShod next to her in a rather carrying whisper, while reaching out to grab something from the Treasurer’s plate. SkekShod growled and swatted her hand away.

“He’s giving himself too much credit with all this,” skekVar, sitting on skekLach’s other side, grunted. “I haven’t even been _mentioned_.”

It looked like now was as good a time as any for the finale. SkekGra spun around, twirling the train of his magnificent red robes impressively, and brandished his puppet self at his audience.

“The fight had lasted for hours,” he said, slowly making his puppet stumble over the table, a sword hanging limply from its claws. “Neither side could hold out much longer, and we knew we must end it. It was when the final Brother had set over the horizon and the last vestiges of light faded from the sky, that we found ourselves facing the Gruenaks’ last, secret weapon.”

He had reached the puppet stage again, where behind his back one of his secondary arms slipped under the stage and retrieved a rough sculpture of wood and metal.

“An unnameable, unknowable creation!” he went on, his voice hushed. “A mechanical device the likes of which I had never before _seen!_”

There were startled gasps; skekGra had secretly flipped a lever that made the stage’s curtain apparatus collapse in on itself, in the same motion raising the metal sculpture onto the stage and whipping away from it in a flurry of robes. The overall effect was that the machine seemed to have appeared from nothing. A flick of his tail signaled the Podling operators behind the stage to crank the machine with their fingers, causing the thing to grind together, sharp metal jaws snapping open and closed.

Quietly making his way over to his seat next to skekZok, skekTek gave him a tiny nod of satisfaction. The Scientist had obliged to build the prop in exchange for blood and bone samples procured from the battlefield.

“Granting protection to the last of the Gruenaks riding its hull, it bore down on us!” skekGra announced to the audience. “One… _hm_… _unlucky_ Gelfling fell victim to its horror…”

The machine gave a particularly savage snap; in the light, the mechanical parts seemed to gleam with splashes of pink and red.

He ducked down, raising up puppets with three of his arms—himself, a rough model of skekUng, and the rattling Gruenak marionette; the Gruenak stood atop the machine, its body language taut with savage triumph as it looked down at the two Skeksis beneath, who gazed up at it and then at each other.

“There was only one thing to be done,” skekGra said. “I must burn it to the ground.”

At the table, skekVar jerked his head up. “_I_ was the one who burned it!”

“Ah, but, you see, the torch is in _my _hand!” skekGra said, holding up one talon.

A Podling lit the match for him, which he took unseen and transferred it to the hand of his puppet proxy with a quick movement. The puppet now held a blazing, miniature torch.

“For Thra!” he cried, his voice ringing in the cavernous room. “For the Skeksis!” And he made to toss the tiny flame onto the metal sculpture.

But his hands were empty, and were not his own.

He was standing in a dark, narrow tunnel; he could hear murmuring voices and saw three figures shuffling near him, looking tense and nervous, glancing over their shoulders repeatedly as though worried about being followed. They were Gruenaks, all of them, from the same tribe he had just purported to have wiped out. The ones he had been forced to let escape…

Words issued from his own throat, though he did not speak them. They were uttered in a deep voice, achingly familiar, _repulsively_ familiar: “Go, hurry. You will be safe here. They are not following… yet.”

It was his own voice. But it was also not.

The Gruenaks pressed past him and headed on down the familiar-looking passageway ahead. One turned back to give him a last look—part grateful, part terrified; and its eyes widened slightly, mouth agape, as though it had noticed something odd about his face, a shadow of something lurking in his eyes—

Panicked yells brought him back to himself, snapping him back to his senses like he had been yanked out of deep water. His Podling assistants had abandoned the puppet stage and encircled him, crying out. Along the table, most of the other Skeksis had jumped to their feet, shouting or screeching with laughter, and skekTek was rushing back toward him with a soup tureen in hand, a _hiss _issuing from his beak.

Out of the corner of his eye, skekGra saw something flickering brightly. He turned his head, and his breath caught in his throat.

His stage was currently on fire, as were the hem of his robes.

“_Fool!_ Curse your negligence!” the Scientist growled in a low voice as he reached skekGra’s side and doused the burning stage in soup. “You didn’t tell me you were going to light it on fire! I labor on that confounded mechanism of yours since before the first sunrise today and you _incinerate_ it?” The fire had died down a great deal and he beat at the remaining flames with his robes, snapping to everyone in the general vicinity, “Well, help me extinguish it! Do we want to be consumed in a great conflagration?”

If the others had been laughing before, they were _howling_ now, skekEkt going so far as to hammer the table with his fist and skekOk very nearly toppling off his chair.

SkekGra paid them no mind, stamping out his smoking robes and assisting skekTek in beating out the fire on the stage, biting back a _hiss _when the fire burned and blistered his hands.

Part of him relished the pain. The thought of that creature whose mind he had shared for a brief instant, his… _other half_… feeling this too was comforting, in a way. He felt sullied at the shared contact, corrupted, unwhole—

_But that’s the point_, a small voice in the back of his head whispered. _You _are_ unwhole_.

He crashed his hands over the last of the flames, snuffing them out, and hoped urGoh felt every blister.

Why was this _happening?_ And why _now?_

Next to him skekTek, panting, shook his head vigorously and stepped back from the smoking wreckage. No one else had rushed to help put out the fire—the Podlings still cowered away, and while every Skeksis was now standing, none had left their spot at the table. Most seemed to still be struggling to breathe.

“Er—_the end!_” skekGra called, and gave another low bow. He nudged skekTek, who, rather than bowing, just grunted and gave a stiff nod to the audience; then he marched back to the table to finally claim his seat, muttering darkly to himself.

“Another performance getting out of hand, I see,” the Emperor said, sitting back down and prompting everyone else to do the same. His eyes flashed with dark amusement. “One can only imagine what you’ll have in store for us _next_ time.”

“It was a momentary distraction!” skekGra called back, idly fiddling with a piece of charred wood from the stage. “Humblest apologies, Emperor. It will not happen again!”

Only after he had spoken did he wonder if he could have gotten away with blaming skekTek for building a faulty, overly-flammable prop. Then again, the Scientist _had_ been the only other one to do anything about the fire.

On skekTek’s left, skekVar snorted. “Wonderful time to be distracted. Handling fire.”

He seemed disgruntled. Perhaps he was upset that there had been time to build a puppet of skekUng, but not of him.

“Well _I_ thought it was excellent,” skekOk said, leaning back in his chair with the light reflecting off every pair of his glasses, turning the lenses white. “A brilliant finale. I do so love when these shows of yours end in fiery disaster, Conqueror.”

“Which is every time!” skekAyuk laughed heartily, then choked and had to cough up a leg bone from his entree.

With the show definitively over, they all fell back into aimless chatter and feasting. SkekGra directed the Podlings to help him clean up the ruined stage, taking care to examine his puppets for damage. None of them had escaped unscathed. He didn’t notice skekSil slip away from the table until he heard the Chamberlain’s characteristic whimper emanate from right behind him, making his hackles rise.

“Are you very well today, Conqueror?” skekSil asked. He shifted his sleeve over his hand and gingerly swatted at a bit of the stage that was still smoldering. “Is not usual for skekGra, always so focused on task at hand, to be so… distracted. So… _forgetful._”

“Yes, well, it has been a very long day—and night—for me,” skekGra said nonchalantly. “I suspect I’m merely tired. In fact, I may just take some food to my chamber and retire early tonight.”

SkekSil nodded. “Of course, of course! Tired from sleepless night on long carriage ride back to castle, yes? And from days spent fighting Gruenak war machines, with no rejuvenation from Crystal, yes, yes. SkekGra must have rest. Would not want to make further careless mistakes, especially in upcoming battle… against _Arathim_.”

SkekGra nearly dropped a broken piece of machinery and scrambled to catch it with one of his secondary arms. "_What_?" he cried, whipping his head in skekSil's direction.

With an obnoxious hum and a tilt of his head, the Chamberlain picked up the singed Gruenak puppet from the floor and turned it in his hands. "Yes, while friend Conqueror was busy preparing for puppet show, I talked with Emperor and General. Gelfling scouts from Stone-in-Wood came to us, told us of Arathim invasion at Caves of Grot. Poor Grottans have managed to fight back some, but will need Skeksis help, _hmmmm_?"

"You _volunteered _me?" His lips twitched, fangs gleaming. He would have said yes to the proposition regardless, but the fact that the Chamberlain had done this _without _his consent…

"Yes, _yes_. After all, I know friend skekGra well. Emperor knows this. And I know skekGra would be willing to aid Skeksis in whatever needs vanquishing, even if it is short time after recent battle!" With a stroke of his claws, he brushed the soot off of the Gruenak puppet's outfit. "If Conqueror can talk to Emperor about important matters _without _friend Chamberlain, _surely _he trusts me to do same."

"...Of course, of course." He snatched the puppet out of skekSil's hands, swiftly pocketing it. "I will gather the details and plot our course of action when the first Brother rises."

With that, he took the handles of his mobile stage and wheeled it out of the room, leaving the Podlings to mop up the ashes on the floor. He hadn’t eaten anything at his own feast, but he’d quite lost his appetite.

"Good night, Conqueror," skekSil called after him. "I _eagerly _await your report in morning!"

SkekGra merely flicked his tail behind him as he retreated to his quarters.

* * *

Everything the Skeksis owned—their castle, their outfits, their banquets—was quite ornate, and their bedchambers were no exception. Small diamond-shaped windows, a plush carpet on the floor, an enormous wardrobe (hand-carved by Gelflings—which tribe, he couldn't recall) with enough room to store a single outfit, and a massive bed with a dense quilt and several layers of blankets.

What separated skekGra's room from the rest were the paintings that hung on his walls (all monochrome, each a different shade of red, brown, or black), several canvases stacked up in one corner, a mess of art supplies (papers, charcoal, brushes, carving knives) scattered across the floor, and the shelves that featured his puppets—each depicting a different race he'd conquered. It was on this shelf he placed the Gruenak puppet, and by a blank space of wall he set his recent painting, to be hung up later when he had the time.

Which certainly wouldn't be anytime soon.

Sighing, skekGra began the arduous task of removing his layers of clothing: his armor, his collar, his outer robes, and so on, carefully placing each in the wardrobe. He examined the singed hems of his robes, thinking of repairs, but decided it wasn’t too noticeable.

As he changed, he kept his mind focused on the challenge he would face tomorrow: of fighting the Arathim, _again_, and of protecting the Gelfling tribes that served the Skeksis. He thought of the defenses of the Arathim, how he'd fought them before to drive them out of the Caves of Grot, of whether or not he'd be able to track down skekUng again on such short notice, and the strange and exploitable connection that the Arathim shared—harm one, and the rest cry out in pain with him…

So intent was he on focusing on these matters that he didn't notice he'd forgotten to pull one arm out of its sleeve before starting on the layer beneath it, and the two sleeves caught on his wrist, and pulled—

_The grasp was as unexpected as it was strong when the hand flew out and caught his arm to block his strike, and the look in the Mystic’s eyes was unusually piercing; but urGoh’s sudden arrival at the battle wasn't what nearly made him drop his weapon in shock. It was the feeling, even through the layers of clothing, that bolted through him, like a sudden blow to his chest—_

With a _snarl_ he ripped all but one of the layers off, shoving them roughly into the wardrobe and slamming the doors shut. He grit his teeth, his breath hissing between his fangs, as he kept his talons pressed against the cool wood, focusing everything on keeping his mind away from _that _scene.

From _that _memory.

And yet he could still feel it, in whatever passed for a heart in his twisted body. One hand pressed into his chest, and it took a surprising amount of willpower to not _claw _at it, if only to give himself something different to feel.

After a moment he clicked his beak, shaking his head; he wasn't going to stand here all night, not when he had a battle tomorrow. But as he slipped into bed and began to drift off to sleep, the memories trickled back into his mind.

The low voice of the urRu, uncharacteristically harsh as he stood in front of the three cowering Gruenaks: _“You... have done enough here today, skekGra. Leave these few... and go slink back to the rest of your kind."_

The unfamiliar, vague sense of _completion_ at the contact, when his light half appeared in the downpour and seized his wrist to stop his sword.

And for the first time since he'd taken this form, for the first time in hundreds of trine...

The feeling of guilt that pierced through his heart.

_You have done enough._


	2. A Dream of Peace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Wanderer wanders back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Jaywings here with the author's note this time!
> 
> First of all, I wanted to give you all a huge, HUGE thank you for the overwhelming reception we got to the first chapter of this fic. BC and I were hoping people would like it, but you guys completely blew us away! Thank you so much!! And speaking of the first chapter, I've gone back in there and added a couple of illustrations, if you haven't seen those yet (and would like to). We're planning to add illustrations to this chapter, too.
> 
> I hope you guys like this chapter! Thank you to ThePrairieNerd for beta-reading for us!

_The sky had been a dark crimson that early morning as the triple suns rose, a deeply foreboding sign for many._

_But urGoh the Wanderer—one of the sixteen remaining Mystics, one of the few who ever left the Valley of the urRu and who had traveled much of Thra—had witnessed many sunrises and the days that followed. He had seen sunny days that ended in sorrow, and storms that ended in joy. If there was any light at all—if the suns still shone, even when obscured by cloud—then it was a sign that Thra was still fighting against the evil that plagued it._

_He took it as a symbol of hope._

_This hope endured in spite of the terrible rainstorm that followed all that day and into the evening, and his steady feet did not slip upon the muddy ground as he meandered ever closer to the Silver Sea. His wanderings never took him on any certain paths or directions, and he never knew what he would see in his travels. Thra had bought him many unexpected sights before._

_It still left him breathless with horror when he crested the hill to see the bloodshed along the shoreline, black as tar in the fading light of the third sun._

_Red-tinged waves mixed with the rain and lapped spilled blood from the water’s edge. Down below him on the sand he could see the still, huddled forms of the fallen; surrounding them were a small army of Gelflings from various clans laden with swords and knives, and led by three dark figures that towered over them. Two of the creatures were large and stocky, excelling in brute strength; the third was lithe and agile, expertly wielding a long sword and wearing robes that matched the color of the stained sea water._

_From this distance the Skeksis’ faces were indistinguishable. But the leader, the one in red robes—urGoh knew him. Knew him like he knew his own traveling cloak, patched and worn and frayed as it was, though the two of them had met face-to-face only once._

_ _

_Disgust laced through him at the sight and burned behind his eyes. Even as he watched, the creature paused in the midst of battle and crouched by each body, briefly rifling with it, as though… collecting something._

_The revulsion fizzled out to be replaced by a shiver of loathing._

UrGoh shuddered, forcefully pulling himself back to the present. He blearily turned his attention to the sound of water gurgling next to him_—_too close to be the distant shoreline, and too gentle to be the sea. The river here was shallow, soothing. He crouched by the bank and closed his eyes, taking a brief stretch of time to find his center and clear his mind.

It did not help. He could still see it all playing out in front of him again_—_as if it was still happening, as though he had never left the doomed battlefield. Meditation was not going to work tonight, it seemed. Maybe it was the pain in his hands.

They had been stinging for some time now. He opened his eyes again and dipped his hands into the stream, wincing slightly at the bite of the cold water against his blistered fingers. A cloud of steam issued from his nostrils into the chill night air as he drew his hands back out, patted them gently against his robes to dry them, and used his undamaged lower arms to spread a paste of crushed herbs over the burns. He bound them loosely in strips of cloth, but paused. His sleeves still bore dark red stains.

His vision swam, and the knot he made was clumsy. He thought he could still smell the blood.

_When the fighting had moved on further along the shore, he was able to slip down to the muddy sand unseen, taking in the surroundings with a sort of numb, drowning horror. The bodies littering the shoreline in the shadows of broken war machines were overwhelmingly Gruenaks, two or three fallen Gelflings lying among them. UrGoh stopped beside a young Gruenak lying on its stomach, appearing mostly unharmed, only to partially lift the body and catch sight of the gash across its neck; blood gushed from the wound when it was moved, seeping over his hands._

_“I’m sorry… little one,” he murmured, and settled the body back down as gently as he could. Slaughter and carnage surrounded him. The scent of blood was heavy in the air, even through the downpour. And still the battle raged on a small distance away—he could hear the enraged shouts, the terrified screams, and see the flickers of fires that struggled to burn in the rain._

_The Gruenaks had clearly done something to offend the Skeksis, and the twisted creatures were good at what they did. None would be left alive._

Do something_, a voice whispered in his mind. _You are the only one who can help.

_It hadn't been the first time he'd heard the calling, the pull to interfere. He'd followed it in ages past, when a race of enormous, terrified creatures had erupted from the ground and lashed out against everyone they came in contact with. He'd stepped in to protect a little Podling from the Makraks’ terrified fury, and directed the larger creatures to a place that was safe for them. In doing so, he had saved many lives that would have otherwise been taken by fear, or the Skeksis' terrible schemes._

_UrSu had warned them all against interfering with the Skeksis again. “Not until it is our time,” he had said, with a calm, slow blink of his eyes. “Only when the Crystal calls for us.”_

Do something.

_The attackers this time were not terrified, misunderstood beings lashing out in fear—they were trained soldiers, headed by the dark shadows that bathed in warfare and haunted the minds of every Mystic. But what could he do? He was not a fighter, and attempting to attack the Skeksis was a foolish idea for a number of reasons._

_He moved back uphill to get a better view of the distant battle without being seen himself—and yet, something had spotted him anyway. Why they came to him, he did not know._

_Perhaps it was the simple fact that he was neither Gelfling nor Skeksis._

A splash in the water nearby startled him from his thoughts, but it was only a swimmer. UrGoh lifted his head and traced the creature’s path upriver through the glittering rapids. He had already followed the Black River for some distance before parting ways with the Gruenak survivors he had saved; keeping along this path would lead him, eventually, to the Valley of the Mystics, where he must relay news of the massacre.

The thought was not a pleasant one.

Sometimes he wished he _could_ simply stay there as the others so often requested, living in blissful ignorance of the atrocities committed beyond the protective reach of the Standing Stones. But his wanderlust, this yawning hole in his being, would not allow him to remain in one place for long. There was always more he must learn, more he must see. Even if those things left their scars on him forever.

It was the only way to feel complete, if only for a short while. And now, having seen to his injured hands, it was time to continue on his trek.

He had traveled this way so often that he could follow the path with his eyes shut tight. He knew the fastest ways to take him home, the surest routes to evade Skeksis detection, and where to cross the river while avoiding Stone-in-the-Wood and any other residences of Gelfling, which had become necessary in recent times. The Gelflings would not take kindly to his presence, thanks to rumors and lies that had spread across Skarith and beyond about the Mystics. Stories spoke of “dark wizards” who lived in hiding and stole the souls of Gelfling children. He could only guess at the origin of such tales, and the reasons for it, but they certainly were of no help to him.

But apparently the lies had only reached Gelfling ears, and not those of the other races that inhabited this world.

_They had come to him when the rest of the fighting had died down—three of them, one significantly smaller than the others—scrambling up the hill to reach him in the downpour, desperation filling their beady eyes. Shouts and snarls from below indicated that one of the Skeksis had noticed and was not far behind. Their tongues uttered broken language, begging him for help. Please, help. They were dying. Even the children were not being spared._

_"Do not interfere," urSu had told him, but when the pursuing Skeksis, still scrambling up the muddy hill, let out another enraged snarl, something burned within him. The Gruenak family scrambled to get closer to him, and he turned his head, his long muzzle pointing like a compass toward the Caves of Grot._

_"I will take you... to safety."_

_He had already begun walking when he heard the creatures _shriek_, and the monster clad in blood-red crested the hill._

"I see your wandering path has crossed mine yet again."

Blinking, urGoh shook his head to bring himself fully out of the memories at last and turned his long neck to see another Mystic standing nearby, watching him calmly.

"Or did your path... cross mine?" urGoh replied, tipping his head to regard the Archer.

"Whichever it may be, it is good to see you again, urGoh." UrVa, his long wooden bow clutched in one hand as an improvised walking stick, crossed the short distance between them to match his stride with urGoh's. "You seem to walk with purpose."

"Yeah." Drawing out a deep sigh, he watched his breath fill the air with steam. "I return to the valley... with news."

"Hmmm." UrVa stared up ahead, his gaze piercing, as though he could already see the valley from where he stood. “Your news must be grave indeed,” he said, “for you to return with blood staining your robes.”

UrGoh lifted his hands and once again took in the crimson blotches on the hems of his sleeves.

“There was… a slaughter,” he said, his voice catching. He turned his head and nodded in the direction he had come from. “A day’s journey… north… through the mountains, to the… shoreline. Skeksis fought to destroy… the Gruenaks, hiding there.”

The Archer bowed his head slightly. “There are some who would face death rather than live on knees bent to an overlord,” he said, his voice somber. “Like the Arathim before them, they knew the direction their path would lead.”

“They could not,” urGoh said.

The two ancient urRu considered each other for a moment.

“A journey to the Standing Stones would serve us both well, I think,” urVa said. “May I join you?”

In answer, urGoh turned and began shambling along again upriver. “Only if you… can keep up,” he said.

UrVa fell into step beside him and the two of them continued down the path to the well-hidden Valley. They walked for hours without speaking, all through the night, guided by the bright silver light of the three Sisters hovering high above them.

Once, urGoh caught sight of the Archer’s eyes trained upward at the night sky. UrGoh rarely looked up at the stars. They were a harsh reminder of all that had been… and all that may never be again.

"Our path... lies ahead," urGoh said, before he could stop himself. "So why do you turn your gaze... upward?"

"When an archer seeks a target, he must keep his eye out for it," urVa said, still staring at the heavens. "I have not seen my friend in many trine. I wondered if perhaps I could catch a glimpse of her in her travels."

"You speak of... Mother Aughra?" urGoh guessed, and urVa nodded his head slowly. "Still she travels amongst the stars, then."

“Yes,” urVa replied with an edge to his tone, dropping his eyes. He did not elaborate.

UrGoh glanced at him. “Would you… care to hear some poetry?” he offered. “I have written many new verses… on my wayfaring.”

The Archer stopped and stared at him for a moment, bemused, then smiled lightly. “I had forgotten you were so... artistic.” He swept his head around to indicate their path ahead. “Perhaps it is best we save our breath for walking.”

“Ahh.” With a flicker of disappointment, urGoh dipped his head. _Not an appropriate time for poems, _he admitted to himself. He prepared to set off again when urVa shifted his bow slightly to tap his elbow.

“However,” the other Mystic said, “there is an alternate route to our destination that I discovered many trine ago, if you are willing to go a small distance out of the way.”

“I am _always_ willing… to wander,” urGoh said. “Many do not know this… but some say… it may be how I got my name.”

“Hmm. In that case, my roaming friend, let us continue this way.” UrVa gestured with one of his hind arms to a thin indent in the trees to one side, a thin trail that could only be called that in the broadest of strokes. UrGoh allowed the Archer to take the lead, traveling quite a ways through a sliver of the dark forest that urGoh had never explored before.

Eventually the dense trees opened out into a small glade bathed in moonlight, with clumps of berry bushes bearing silvery-white and orange fruits.

“I do not know of any other place where these grow.” UrVa plucked a branch from one of the bushes and handed it over to urGoh, who sniffed at the berries. “They have no taste in the daylight. But under moonlight, they are as sweet as shimmering stars fallen from the sky.”

UrGoh licked up a few from the branch and crunched them between his teeth, his brows quirking a little in surprise. The berries _were_ sweet. As for whether they could truly be compared to the taste of stars, however, he could only guess, having never tasted one.

The Archer took a handful of berries for himself. He did not immediately eat them, seeming to idly examine them instead before lifting his gaze skyward once more. “Do you see the Sisters, Wanderer?”

Swallowing the last of his share of berries, urGoh hesitated, before turning his eyes to the sky. Two of Thra’s three moons hung luminous against the blackness, unobscured by clouds or trees. They were both waxing, though the Pearl Moon was closest to full.

“Beings that shift between light and darkness, and all of them merely dim reflections of the Triple Suns,” urVa murmured. “Waxing and waning in turn, the light and shadow unable to exist without the other. Not for long.” He drew his gaze away and focused on urGoh once again. “It is not in our nature to understand this, much less accept it. Yet sometimes, understanding comes upon us in the most unexpected of ways.”

His look was penetrating. For the space of a breath, urGoh had the distinct impression that his companion was looking _through_ him—that he could see the blood-soaked battlefield. The creatures pleading for their lives. And the charging Skeksis, sword drawn, his eyes burning like coals.

“Oh—oh, yes,” urGoh replied. “Understanding. Like… an arrow. To... the... foot? Ouch.”

UrVa tilted his head, one brow raised, and urGoh snorted. “...Apologies. I… do not know any archery metaphors.”

The Archer smiled, letting out a soft chuckle. “With enough practice, they come easily. Now, we should take our leave—the night grows short, and we have several hours yet before we reach the Standing Stones.”

He turned, and began shuffling forward onto another trickle of a path on the other side of the clearing.

Before leaving, urGoh picked another branch and dropped it carefully into his pocket. “A sprig from these bushes... may take root in the Valley, if tended by the Herbalist,” he said. “The others would… enjoy them.” With that, he followed after urVa. As they left the clearing he was tempted to look back over his shoulder, to catch another glimpse of the two visible Sisters, but refrained.

"It is good to have company," urVa said when urGoh caught up with him. "With the Skeksis' lies spread about us, and Mother Aughra's spirit absent from Thra, I have had few to talk to."

"Perhaps... after this journey, your travels... could join mine... for a while," urGoh said, meeting his eyes briefly. So it seemed he was not the only one to suspect that the grim tales had originated from the castle.

"No, my friend Wanderer. I fear I would never manage to keep up with your pace."

* * *

The first Brother rose slowly over the horizon, casting long shadows across the Valley of the Mystics as they approached the Standing Stones. The Archer stopped in his path, leaving urGoh to go a few paces further before turning around. "Do you not wish... to visit the Valley once more?"

"No. This is where our paths must diverge once again."

"Then diverge... they will." UrGoh turned away, adjusting his cloak. "May they cross... once more, someday. And then I… will read you all the great poems you’ve... missed.”

UrVa made an indistinct noise in reply.

As urGoh marched onward, he heard the Archer call back to him: "You realize, urGoh… that some words can stir upset and anger, unless they are held on the tongue."

UrGoh frowned, staring down at his bloodstained sleeves. "Anger and sorrow... are better than ignorance."

If urVa gave him a look at those words, he did not turn to see it, nor did he hear his friend's footsteps departing. But as he crossed through the Standing Stones, he turned back to take one last look, only to find the Archer had long departed.

* * *

Over a dozen Mystics resided in the Valley, but to call it "full of life" would be questionable. They ambled about slowly within their residence, carrying out the same tasks they did at the same time every day. Few acknowledged urGoh as he passed by, save for one or two calm glances. If anyone noticed the stains on his sleeves, they said nothing.

The sharp, pungent scent of spices filled the air as urGoh passed urAmaj's kitchen alcove. The bitter smell made his mouth water, but he would stop for food later, once his more difficult task was out of the way.

As urGoh marched along the upper levels of the Valley, he spotted the one he sought standing outside his dwelling place, his gaze pointed in the direction of the castle—or, more accurately, the Crystal. It was not an unusual sight; the Master often did so, as he waited day after day for the calling of the Crystal. The cool morning breeze tousled his stark white mane, and he did not look at urGoh when he approached.

"The Crystal... calls not today... I take it?" urGoh asked.

"It seems not." Finally urSu turned his gaze upon him, sighing. Even without raising himself up, he stood a head taller. "I see you have again returned to us, urGoh the Wanderer."

"Yes, Master. It is... good to see you... as well."

Without another word, urSu began walking past him, as though that were the end of their conversation.

UrGoh followed, not keen on dropping this so easily. "I bring... news."

The leader of the urRu slowly shook his head. "No news from the outside is important... that we cannot tell from the position of the suns, or the song of the Crystal."

“The Crystal… has been silent,” urGoh pointed out, “yet other voices… cry out in terror… and pain. Skeksis spread lies... about us, and seek domination… over all races on Thra. Resistance against them… is met with massacre.”

They had come close enough to the Valley’s lower levels for nearby Mystics to catch his last few words; they lifted their heads a bit, as if listening but not entirely concerned.

UrSu stopped in his path down to the Valley floor, his head lowered, seeming to lean all of his weight on the walking stick he carried. “We have all known this for some time,” he said. “Your news… is not new. It brings only grief, Wanderer. Not enlightenment.”

Guilt pricked at urGoh’s heart. All sixteen urRu wore remorse like a second coat, but urSu seemed to bear it more heavily than most. The slaughter urGoh had witnessed was not a new revelation, but instead was one more tragedy in a long season of devastation carried out by the Skeksis.

Another urRu approached them, bowing his head to urSu and then fixing urGoh with a steady look. “And who is it, Wanderer? Who has fallen to Skeksis cruelty this day?”

UrGoh opened his mouth to answer, but to his surprise, urSu cut him off.

“No,” the urRu Master said quietly but firmly, not looking at either of them. “You know it is not our concern, Chanter. It is not our place to interfere with the world outside this valley. Our purpose is to wait here, for the calling of the Crystal.”

“Of course.” UrSol the Chanter inclined his head to urSu once more, and turned to leave. As he walked away, however, low rumbling notes issued from his throat; urGoh stiffened at the words that filtered into his head in urSol’s voice, which urSu could not hear: “_I can see that something more troubles you, Wanderer. Not all of us are in full agreement with the complacency we have chosen. But we must all heed urSu’s wise words. Tread lightly, for your path forward is narrow and the smallest misstep may cause it to crumble._”

He took a moment to reflect on this, and somehow, his resolve strengthened. Normally this was the point where he really would let it rest—where he would turn aside, eat and sleep, and make preparations for yet another journey. Truly, he hated making urSu feel worse than he usually did, and the lot of them already knew how terrible things were outside the Valley.

But this time, something was different.

UrGoh didn't feel the usual calm defeat he did when returning with bad news. He didn't find his emotions all that easy to turn away, just as the blood had not washed away from his sleeves last night. An unfamiliar fervor clung to him as the stains did his robes, burning within his chest, working its way through his throat and to his tongue.

"What about... our _former _purpose?"

UrSu stopped walking.

None of them fully remembered the days before the Great Conjunction—so much of it felt like a dream at best, a nightmare at worst. But something had brought part of it back to his memory. "Were we not... here to help this planet? Isn't that why... we're here... to begin with?"

_Clack._

It was a hollow sound, yet it rang throughout the Valley, which became very still.

And at the same time, things became much more noisy.

Talons, much smaller than his own hands, curled into fists and slammed against the table, sending a flare of pain through his still-blistered fingers. The room was dim save for the light filtering in through a small window against the table, and his view of the stone walls was blocked by tall, bulky figures.

UrGoh blinked.

This was not the Valley.

"SkekUng has already moved on elsewhere," he found himself saying, in a harsh and grating voice that was not his own. "It would take us a full day to reach him and we don't have that time."

A stuffy _snort _erupted to his side. "We don't need him. This won't be an attack on nearly the same scale as before. This will be an unorganized skirmish." Another fist pounded the table, with purpose. "We will _crush _them like the crawlies they are."

Taking stock of his surroundings again, urGoh noticed the map spread out over the table. It was hard to make out, but what little light there was in the room was focused on a singular place: a layout of the Caves of Grot.

"_Mmmmm_, Conqueror, is your mind wandering?"

When urGoh blinked again, the dim room was gone, and urSu was casting a long shadow over him. "...My... a... pologies," urGoh muttered, sweeping his tail behind him. What... had just happened?

His hands still stung; he could almost feel the rough wood grain of the far-distant table scraping across his knuckles. Never before had he been pulled from his own consciousness to see through the eyes of his Skeksis counterpart. He felt as though he had teetered on the edge of a steep ravine, the bottom hidden in complete darkness, only for someone to yank him back to safety at the last moment. He did not know what to make of it.

UrSu was looking at him intently. He had tapped his walking stick on the ground—not hard, but with enough force to cause everyone in the valley to focus their dull-eyed attention on him. They knew what the sound meant.

“We have all discussed these very questions in trine past,” he said. “Who we were, before the sky shattered above us…” he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, another sigh, “...is not who we are now. In these forms we can do nothing. We do not have the means to affect the world outside this valley. Nor _should_ we… As you have brought readily back to mind, urGoh the Wanderer, our very presence here unleashed the wrath of the Skeksis upon this world… Perhaps we have done enough.”

The phrasing struck a chord, but of course urSu could not know that. He hesitated to speak again, though the words burned within him with the same strange fire as they had a moment ago, before his brief excursion into the mind of a bloodthirsty lizard.

“Gelfling… give each other aid with naught but brave hearts, and… two hands to help the fallen to their feet,” he said at last. “We… have… _four_.”

UrSu gazed down at him without anger or coldness, and spoke calmly, as though stating a simple fact: "Helping one to their feet... only allows them to fall harder once again."

"At least they can stand... a moment longer," he retorted, and resumed without thinking, "I do not regret... helping the Gruenak... as I did."

Only too late did he realize what he had said. In that moment, urSu raised himself up higher, though he kept his lower arms gripping his walking stick. "I thought something had changed... within you, Wanderer. You were always... in a hurry, but now... you have become hotblooded."

UrGoh took a step back, unsettlingly alarmed. He had not _changed_. He perhaps felt a little different, but truly it was from seeing the helplessness of the Gruenak that had approached him, nothing more. It wasn't the fact that he had seen _him _scrambling up the hill, his fiery eyes trained on the cowering family, his sword raised to kill.

It was not the fact that he'd stepped forward, and reached out with one of his four hands, and...

"You have seen... your dark half."

UrGoh let out a rush of air through his teeth.

"That is yet another reason... to not get involved." UrSu's tone was not condemning, but sympathetic. "We cannot allow ourselves to receive influence from our dark halves."

"Regardless... of how I did it..." urGoh said, mulling over his words, "I do not... regret... saving the Gruenak. Not now that they are safe... in the... in..."

His breath caught.

He'd led them into the Caves of Grot.

Where the Skeksis were now leading an attack.

"...They are not safe," he whispered, drawing back further.

"No," urSu said, finally lowering himself from his more upright stance, rolling his shoulders. "That is the way of things, and why—"

UrGoh slapped his tail against the ground. "—Why... I must help again." He looked up, meeting urSu's gaze. "Please... help me. We may... save them."

His heart raced in his chest—more frantically, he thought, than it had ever done in his existence. Emotions were surging through him, bubbling just beneath the surface, an entirely new sensation that he could not recall ever feeling before. He felt lingering disgust at finding himself peering through the eyes of his dark counterpart, whom he had tried for many trine to forget the existence of and yet now seemed to be popping up everywhere; there were sharp stabs of fear for the Gruenaks he had tried to protect, like icy knives impaling his skin; and most peculiarly, there was… growing frustration? Anger? _Anger_—towards the other Mystics? Towards _urSu?_

UrGoh clamped down hard on the feeling and struggled to snuff it out. Who was he, to let himself feel such anger? Especially toward his own kind? Especially toward his _leader? _

But why would urSu simply not _listen?_

“It is my opinion,” urSu said, his voice firm and yet as calm and measured as ever, “that you should stay in the Valley, Wanderer. I am afraid I must implore you once again to make your home here with the rest of us… I have advised everyone to avoid interfering with the happenings outside. It seems you cannot heed these warnings…”

UrGoh stood with his mouth slightly open and his mind working slowly, unable to form a response. He had always known he could never be content to stay in any one place for too long, so living forever in the Valley had been out of the question. His place was meandering through the world, taking everything in. Watching the wondrous creatures of Thra go about their lives—their happy, fulfilling, _whole_ lives that deep down he knew he could never experience for himself.

Now, as sudden as though it had leaped from the bushes and ambushed him, something greater called. He had led the battle’s survivors to the Caves of Grot hoping the Grottan Gelflings would see to it that they were protected and well-cared for. He had thought they were safe. He had wanted them _safe_.

“I am… sorry…” urGoh said, looking urSu straight in the eye. “I cannot… stay here.”

UrSu held his gaze, then closed his eyes as though in deep regret. “You are always welcome here, my old friend,” he said, his voice heavy with sadness. “I hope, in due time, you will realize you are making a grave mistake. I only hope you can recognize it before it is too late.”

He turned his head away again, and urGoh took that as a dismissal. The leader of the urRu would be no further help. UrGoh left his side at last and scrutinized the faces of the other Mystics in the valley, his heart still pounding, silently pleading for them to aid him. He could not do this alone.

The Caves of Grot were a day’s journey again back in the direction he had come. He also needed to eat and sleep, or he may well collapse on the trip. He would never get there in time. Not before the Skeksis arrived to wage their war, anyway, and he knew with bone-deep certainty that skekGra the Conqueror would never allow those three Gruenaks to escape alive again once he had them back in his sights. It was only a matter of time before they too were left like the poor soul he had lifted from the ground by the shores of the Silver Sea, the life cut from him with a gash to the throat.

There must be something he could still do. Surely someone would help him.

He spotted urSol once more, engaged in chanting ancient words over burning incense, and made his way over to him. He was keenly aware of the others glancing up at him as he passed by, only to look away again. UrSol looked up as he neared and met him patiently; it was as if he had been waiting for urGoh to approach him.

“I am sorry that you did not find what you sought here, Wanderer,” he said. “Perhaps in time we will all grow more attuned to the world’s suffering. For now, it seems you sail your own seas.”

“I need… to get to the Caves of Grot… _quickly,_” urGoh said. “Perhaps… you have something to…?”

“Songs and chanting will not aid your objective,” urSol interrupted. “You must seek help from another source. There is a place where one might stand and gaze into the far reaches of the universe, beyond the three suns, and glimpse the future in the shapes of the orbiting stars. It is there that you will find what you most desperately seek.”

UrGoh perked up, hope brimming in his chest, as well as confusion. A place to stand in one spot and look out across the universe… Where could that be? He had heard of the Spy Glass at the Castle of the Crystal, a contraption built by their Scientist with which you could peer over great distances, but surely urSol would not send him alone into the home of the Skeksis. The dark creatures had learned their lesson about harming Mystics half a thousand trine ago, but even so… even so…

“You will understand,” urSol murmured, turning back to his work with a swish of his tail, “when you see it on the horizon. Follow the Greater Sun…”

UrGoh tilted his head to one side. “But… that will take me to—”

“UrGoh,” a second voice said. UrGoh looked up in mild surprise; urZah the Ritual Guardian had joined them, looking at the two of them somberly. “You waste too much time here, Wanderer… If you truly want to save these creatures, you must leave now. Go to the home of Aughra—that is where you will find help.”

“I… see.” UrGoh glanced back at urSol. “You could have just… said that. But Mother Aughra continues her journey across the stars, and… can provide no help.”

“You have charted a treacherous course, Wanderer,” was all urSol said in response, without looking at him. “Though you are a skilled oarsman, be wary your vessel does not overturn… and you dash yourself upon the rocks.”

“And know this, also,” urZah said, lifting his head up and looking at urGoh through heavily-lidded eyes. “Though the Crystal does not call to us yet, it whispers… and I foresee a great darkness over your future, Wanderer. This path you have chosen—there is something unknown approaching, unfamiliar to us, crouching ahead of you like a fearsome beast. It waits to consume you… _and_ your shadow.”

Uneasiness stirred in urGoh’s chest, his limbs suddenly seeming to grow heavier with dread. He pressed his mouth closed, swallowing hard, and then asked, “What… do you mean, my shadow?”

Nothing he knew of on Thra could consume shadows. He wondered if there were creatures unknown to the Mystics, perhaps deep down in the Caves of Grot, and he was walking directly into danger.

_Or perhaps_, a part of him—a part he desperately wished to ignore—whispered, _perhaps urZah did not mean it quite so literally_.

"I believe... you understand already," urZah said, inclining his head.

UrGoh grunted. "Whatever happens... will happen. I will take... the course I must." If the Chanter and the Ritual Guardian both bade him to travel to the sage’s observatory, then he would, and see what answers awaited him there.

"Then safe journeys... friend," urSol said, bowing his head. UrZah did the same, stepping aside and allowing him to pass.

But he would not leave the Valley just yet. Used as he was to travel, after a full day and night of walking he would need food and rest if he wanted any success on this journey. He stopped by urAmaj's kitchen to obtain a bowl of broth, which he carried with him to a cave that none of the other Mystics inhabited: his own home.

It was dusty and sparsely-decorated, but as he spent so little time there, it needed nothing more than what it had: a small mound of cushions and blankets that served as a bed, and a shelf stacked with sheafs of bark paper. While he used his front arms to bring his bowl of broth to his muzzle, with his back arms he reached into his satchel and drew out a few more scraps of paper. He placed those on the shelf with the others, adding to his growing collection of poetry.

As he downed the bitter food, his mind drifted back to urZah's words.

_It waits to consume you... _and _your shadow._

That _shadow, darkness and hatred made manifest, had cast a shadow of its own over the three Gruenaks, who trembled and sobbed around him. The presence of the creature made his mane bristle; he froze with his back to the monster and his head held low, glaring at the ground, disgusted at the thought of being anywhere near _him_._

_The Skeksis, meanwhile, took no notice of him—entirely focused on his prey, he perhaps assumed that urGoh was a misshapen boulder in the rain._

_"You little Gruenak worms dare think you can oppose the Lords of the Crystal and get away with it?!" His voice was a mad shriek, a taunt, as he swished his blade back and forth in front of them._

_The Gruenak pleaded with him—with _both _of them—in broken language, begging the dark to show mercy, the light to show strength._

_Only one of those was possible._

_Behind him, the shadow raised his sword, and urGoh felt a flash of _fury_. With more speed than he had ever known, he raised himself up and twisted around, grabbing the Skeksis’ arm before the blow could fall._

_The feeling that shot through him was familiar, yet not, jolting like a lightning strike through his hand and down his arm to the rest of his body. It shocked him to his core and he almost let go at once—but he shoved the feeling aside as he finally lifted his head up to face _him_, staring directly into the crazed and uncomprehending eyes of his dark half._

_And, filled with a boldness he could not explain, he finally spoke:_

_“You... have done enough here today, skekGra. Leave these few... and go slink back to the rest of your kind."_

_After a moment, he let go, and the feeling was gone in an instant._

_The strength and energy that had so suddenly filled him drained away, leaving him feeling like a cracked, empty vessel. UrGoh watched the Conqueror jerk backward in what he might have mistaken as horror, a strangled noise tearing from the creature’s throat. He saw as if in a blur the Skeksis whirl around, muddied red robes swirling, and vanish back down the hillside in a spray of silt._

_He was gone._

UrGoh blinked down at the empty bowl in his hands; a bit of the edge had chipped away from his holding it too tightly. Shaking his head, he set it aside, and curled up upon his bedding. His back hands lazily drew a blank sheaf of paper, a quill, and an inkwell from his satchel and transferred them to his front hands.

Heaving a sigh that stirred the dust around the floor, he placed the paper down gently, took quill in hand, and began to scrawl.

_The shadows cast from the beings of light_

_Promised protection, but instead ruled with spite._

_The weak turned to the shadows to please show them grace—_

_Their response was the sword, and a turned-away face._

_They then searched for the light in desperation for aid,_

_But the lantern is dim now and obscured by the shade._

_If just one can give help after countless trine,_

_How much more brightly may one day we shine?_


	3. For Which I Was Famed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Conqueror returns to his element.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya folks! BabyCharmander here for this author's note. I know it's been a while, but we're still at it! We've been working on this fic constantly and finally we're here with the next chapter!
> 
> One thing about this chapter, however, is that it was winding up _so long_ we had to split it into two chapters! (Seriously it was gonna be over 10k words long, which might be a bit much). We already have what is now the next chapter about half-written, so it should be out much faster!
> 
> (a quote from Jaywings: "do you find it as ironic as I do that in this specific fic we had to take one chapter and split it into two")
> 
> Thanks to ThePrairieNerd for beta-reading!
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy!

SkekGra had dreamed the night prior.

It hadn't been much, really—or if it had been, he remembered very little of it: glimpses of moonlight on a stream, the sounds of gentle water, the taste of unfamiliar sweetness... the screaming and triumphant cries of a battle, the scent of blood. The latter wouldn't have been so terrible had it not been for the foreign emotions that accompanied it: sorrow, anger, _hatred_.

Even with that, it wasn't really what anyone would call a _nightmare_, by any stretch of the imagination. It was vague—a very mild dream, overall.

There was just one problem:

Skeksis didn't dream. Ever.

...Did they?

SkekGra had jolted awake in a cold sweat, his bedrobes clinging to his clammy skin and his covers tangled around his legs and tail. He'd sat upright in bed, two hands over his chest as he tried to calm the pounding of his heart. This... this wasn't normal. This wasn't normal at all.

After a few minutes, he’d pieced together the memory of what had happened over the past couple days, and he slumped back against his pillows, his lips curled in a snarl. He knew the cause of this—it was the same reason he would awaken every so often with sore feet, or why his legs would sometimes ache even if he'd spent all day in a carriage. Just as they did at the moment, now that he thought about it. _Idiot_, he growled inwardly. _This is all _his _fault._

It had never resulted in _dreams _before, but that was beside the point. It was all _that _creature's fault, and if that's how he was going to play, so be it. SkekGra the Conqueror didn't _need _sleep, anyway.

A bump jostled him out of his thoughts, and he shook his head, blinking and glancing out the window at the landscape rolling past. Another lurch of the carriage nearly sent him to the floor. "_Baahh_, armaligs," he grunted. "We could have just walked there ourselves, with less crashing around!"

Sitting across from him, skekVar snorted. "And let the Gelfling get there before us?"

SkekGra let out a snicker, rocking in time with the motion of the carriage. “Get there _before_ us? Heh, without having us to follow, the hapless Gelfling would get lost, and end up wallowing chin-deep in the Swamp of Sog!”

SkekVar laughed heartily. “Or they would make it to the caves, only to enter the wrong tunnel and plunge down into the inner fires!”

“Ah. That… would be a sight.” With a half-hearted smirk, skekGra absently reached up to rub at one eye with his knuckle. The General cut off his own laughing abruptly and peered at him.

“You still look as if you haven’t slept in days, Conqueror,” he said. “Did the Ceremony of the Sun not rejuvenate you this morning?”

SkekGra’s heart clenched and he yanked his hand away. “Of course it did!” He sat up, banishing all signs of fatigue from his face with practised ease and folding his bandaged talons in his lap, and let his voice take on a warning tone. “Are you worried I’m not up to this task, General?”

The General sniffed. “No,” he said, somewhat sourly. “Exhaustion never seems to bother you, with or without the Crystal. I don’t know how you do it.”

SkekGra simply nodded with a satisfied “Hmph.” He pretended to develop a keen interest in his hands, picking at the fabric of his robes with one talon. His fingers were still blistered, but healing remarkably well for him having done nothing to help the process except sloppily wrapping them with makeshift bandages. Still hurt like a fizzgig bite, though.

Truthfully, the Ceremony of the Sun _had_ helped him. It did not, however, purge away the memories and troubles that still plagued him from the past few days, as he had convinced himself it would. He now saw that it had been a vain hope. The only thing that could truly rid him of this was warfare—_bloodshed_. (Or, whatever passed for blood in the bodies of the Arathim.) He would feel like himself again only once he grasped a sword in his claws and could stare into the glowing eyes of his enemies.

It was a shame he had been tasked merely with fending off yet another Arathim attack. The Gruenaks had been a refreshing change of pace. Well, at least this fight would give him material for a new show. He would need to construct more puppets...

It had started raining again. He could hear the raindrops drumming on the roof of the carriage, as well as a tremendous _squelch_ as the armaligs plowed through a deep mud puddle outside.

SkekVar grunted, glancing out the window. “This weather is a _curse_. At least we’ll be underground this time instead of outside getting soaked through to the skin.” He paused, and glanced at skekGra. “So… which _is_ the right tunnel to enter the caves? So we don’t go falling into any pits.”

Having to physically fight back a groan, skekGra reached into his pack and pulled out the map of the Caves of Grot, unfurling it between the two of them. He supposed it was as good a time as any to go over the battle plan again, especially with their most recent information.

“_Here_.” He prodded a tunnel entrance leading straight into Domrak with his claw. “You will enter here with your Gelfling battalion, after I enter _here_—” he poked another tunnel entrance some distance away from the first, “with mine. We will attack from two sides.” He traced his finger in a circle over a wide section of cave between the two entrances. “The Arathim forces are mostly gathered here—”

“—According to the last information we received,” skekVar snorted, leaning forward to peer at the map. “This is already the second time we’ve changed the plan. I was supposed to go in first—now you’re telling me to wait in the rain!”

“Not for long!” SkekGra’s lips peeled back from his fangs in a grin. “But long enough. I need time to focus the Spitters’ attention on me. You will attack from behind, take them by _surprise_.” He spread his fingers dramatically, the armored plates of his gauntlets clinking.

The General jabbed his own blunt claw down on a secluded spot on the map, pointing to the Tomb of Relics. “If the dirt-dwelling Gelflings know what’s good for them they’ll have hidden themselves away here, or some other place. We sent the orders to evacuate. They shouldn’t get under claw.”

“Yes, protecting the little cave-dwellers is an unfortunate priority,” skekGra said, nodding thoughtfully. “Grottans aren’t much for fighting.”

“Grottans aren’t much for _anything_. Can’t fight, can’t cook, can’t even _see_ when the Brothers shine bright.” SkekVar snapped his beak irritably. “The other Gelflings would likely _welcome_ the obliteration of their weakest clan.”

“The Emperor doesn’t agree.” SkekGra rubbed his lower jaw, running his eyes over the map once more. “We want to _avoid_ chaos and rebellion. What good is it to rule someone who will not be ruled? We’d have to wipe them all out! And, besides…” SkekGra brushed his fingers over the top of his ceremonial staff, sitting propped next to him for use in celebrating their upcoming victory. “...We promised Mother Aughra we would protect the Crystal. Protecting the Crystal means defending the Gelfling living under its power. _All_ Gelfling.”

SkekVar growled, drawing back into his seat. “I don’t see how the two are related at _all_. And we’ve been dancing around that promise for over a thousand—” he cut himself off, backtracked, and picked back up, “—for over four hundred trine. We could even just say we were too late to stop the Arathim.”

Eyes flashing, skekGra snapped his head up and bared his fangs. “You want us to tell them we _lost?_”

The General’s eyes widened in shock, as though he hadn’t realized what he’d just proposed. Then he scowled, letting out a puff of hair through his nostrils. “No. No, you’re right.”

“_I do not lose!_”

“And nor do I.” SkekVar looked down at the map again and snorted disdainfully. “We _won’t_ lose, anyway. We’ve fought these disgusting things before, and in greater numbers.”

“Which gives us an advantage.” SkekGra, still ruffled, gestured through the air with his finger. “We fought the Arathim in Grot hundreds of trine ago, and these will likely try the same strategies again. They have no means of keeping records. They don’t know how their ancestors were defeated. They don’t _remember_.” He smiled. “But _we_ do.”

SkekVar nodded decisively. "We will crush them even faster this time, and be back before the light of the first Brother tomorrow."

"Yes, so long as the Gelflings can stick to the plans."

"The Gelfling... _rarely _fail us," skekVar said with a reluctant tilt of his head. "They _probably _won't this time, either. They did reasonably well in our last battle, anyway."

SkekGra rolled up the map with a few deft flicks of his wrists, mulling over the question he wanted to ask. It seemed… unwise. Possibly even dangerous. But the mention of the previous battle brought it to the tip of his tongue, and he blurted it out anyway.

“SkekVar…” he said, hesitating as he slipped the map back into his bag, then plunged ahead. “Do you… dream?”

The General furrowed his brow. “Uh… what?”

"My lords!"

Startled, they both looked out the window to the side, where a Gelfling captain (a Spriton, if his auburn skin was anything to go by) was riding alongside their carriage on a landstrider.

"We are nearing the Caves of Grot. We await your command."

Had that much time passed already? SkekGra and skekVar exchanged glances before looking back to the captain, and skekGra cleared his throat. "How far out are we?"

"Approximately a fifteen minute march, my lord."

"Excellent! We'll stop here." He nodded to skekVar, who reached for a lever near his seat. An electrical jolt shot through to the armaligs, who squealed in protest as they guided the carriage to a stop. There was no need to begin their march to Domrak just yet, however, as the rest of their small army would take some time to catch up. In the meantime, both he and skekVar would go over the plan with the captains beneath them, and those captains in turn would fill in their soldiers.

The problem was, they couldn't all sit in the carriage to talk. Even though a few puny Gelflings could easily fit in the carriage alongside them, neither skekGra nor skekVar felt like attempting to talk over each other, so one of them would have to step out into the rain. Not keen on listening to his fellow Skeksis griping about the weather _again_, skekGra cranked open the side of the carriage and started to lean out—

Raindrops splattered onto his beak in quick succession; for an instant he was yanked back to the battlefield from two days ago, and a heartbeat later was swept away in the dark, churning river and foreign emotions from his improbable dream—

He jerked back in surprise into the safety of the carriage, shook the water off his beak, and eyed skekVar. “...General, would you please step out to advise your captains?”

With a disgruntled _snort_, skekVar snatched the map out of skekGra's hands and stomped outside.

* * *

SkekVar was right about one thing. This weather was _loathsome_, and entirely unfit for Skeksis. Not to mention the bizarre effect it was having, as skekGra led the march to the caves. Each step on the muddy ground brought him back to the Gruenak battle, every drop of water on his face was a spray of blood that he himself had spilled. It unsettled him.

He almost envied the Gelfling under his command, with their hoods pulled up over their heads against the downpour, but he was a lord of the Crystal. A little water could not bother him. Even so, his stride became stiff and rigid as he fought to keep himself rooted in the present.

It felt like hours had passed before they at last reached the entrance they would take into the cave system. It would be an immense relief to be able to get out of the rain.

However, as soon as they entered, a chill overtook him and he shivered. These tunnels were colder than he remembered. But at least the shelter kept the memories from the other day from haunting him.

“Onward,” he said softly, gesturing into the cave with the tip of his beak, and his army pressed on. Aside from the sound of Gelfling boots against stone and the scrape of his own claws, the caves felt eerily silent.

"There's no sign of them," the captain by his side whispered. "Could they have already eradicated the Grottan by now, and moved on?"

"No, no. The Grottan know these caves better than anyone and have probably fled to safety," he replied. "Even if they _were _eradicated... _they _would still be here." Narrowing his eyes, he peered through the uneven tunnel ahead, barely illuminated by glowing moss. "The Ascendancy want these caves all to themselves."

Strangely, he felt an uneasiness within him at the sight of the path ahead. Though _why_, he wasn't sure; their victory was certain, and he was not afraid of an army of oversized crawlies. But something about these tunnels nagged at him, as though they were familiar. Yet he hadn't been to these caves in hundreds of trine—not since he'd helped clear out the Arathim in the first place. So why...?

He brought a talon up to scratch at his mane in thought, and felt the brush of bandages against his head.

Bandages—

The fire in the banquet hall, the vision through that disgusting Mystic’s eyes, these caves—

_That creature had led the escaped Gruenaks to these very caves._

His foot stumbled upon the rocky ground, and he let out a hollow gasp. If they were still here, if he could find them—

"My lord, is everything all right?"

Before he could answer, a deafening _screech _erupted from the tunnel ahead. The Gelflings all drew their weapons at once, skekGra hastily doing the same as the rock walls around them were filled with the echoes of many pointed legs against stone.

"Remember the plan," skekGra growled to the captain, before throwing his whole body forward in a _roar_, brandishing both of his short swords. Behind him, each Gelfling let out a wild battle cry, filling the caves with sound, before they charged forward to meet their foe.

Sure enough, the enormous crawlies were upon them in an instant, scrambling down the narrow tunnels with their red eyes glowing in the darkness.

"Kill them all!" skekGra cried, a giddy delight filling him at the promise of battle. "Don't let a single one escape!"

Two Spitters focused their attention on him at once, diving straight at him while screeching something in their hideous language. SkekGra took a ready stance, timed his strike, and swept forward in one fluid motion. One of his swords caught the leg of one Spitter and sliced it off at the joint, sending the creature skidding across the ground. His other sword plunged into the second Arathim with a _crunch_ of exoskeleton; he pulled his sword clear in a spray of green sludge and the lifeless creature collapsed to the ground in a tangle of still-twitching legs.

SkekGra stared down at it. The thing was still trembling. It was as though the body didn’t know it was dead.

“_Screeee!_”

SkekGra jerked his head up to see the other Arathim he had injured streaking towards him again, its running motion uninhibited by its missing leg. Its red eyes were wide, wild, and the sounds erupting from somewhere inside it sounded less like decipherable speech and more like… _screaming_.

SkekGra twisted aside, brought the blade of his sword up by a fraction, and cut the Arathim in half. It joined its fellow in a heap on the ground.

His sword handle had become slick with yellow-green Arathim blood. His hand kept slipping on it, his talons working to find purchase.

His hands and sleeves were slathered in green blood.

It was all over the front of his robes.

His feet skidded in it on the ground.

The battle had only just started—he had only managed to kill two so far. Where had all this blood come from?

A strangled yelp made him look up to see a Spitter with its pinchers locked on the tattered wing of a female Gelfling guard. The Gelfling brought the flat of her sword up and smacked the creature in the eye, disorienting it; skekGra sprang forward and sank one of his swords into its back with another _crunch_.

The Arathim’s jaws spasmed but then relaxed in death. The Gelfling ripped herself free, gasping out, “Thank you, my lord!” before vanishing back into the horde of Gelflings. Whether it was to continue in the fray or to seek medical attention, skekGra didn’t know.

He struggled to yank his sword back out of the body. It had sunk deep into a patch of blood-soaked dirt and would not be removed. All his attempts did was jostle the dead Arathim soldier and rend it further apart, oozing yet more slime.

SkekGra released the sword handle as though touching it had burned him. There was no use fighting to remove it; perhaps it could be recovered after the battle was over.

He gripped his remaining short sword with two hands to add more power to his swing, dropping his knife-wielding secondary arms into a guard stance in case anything came at him from behind. His largest sword would have to remain sheathed until they emerged into an area with more space—the tunnels were just too cramped to use it effectively.

Arathim surged toward him now, an endless stream of them that he was forced to cut down again and again in a whirlwind of talons and sword blades. None got close enough to even touch him, but they seemed far more interested in him than in any of the Gelflings. Perhaps they _did _remember… some things.

_Slash_, a cry of pain.

_Slash_, another Arathim body cleaved in half.

The sounds of battle pressed in around him, suffocating him, the acidic smell of their blood heavy in his nostrils and on his tongue, leaving his stomach twisting itself in knots.

Wasn’t he supposed to be _enjoying_ this?

Their surroundings grew brighter as his battalion fought onwards, carving their way through the tunnel. They emerged in a wide space, with Grottan dwellings perched along the cave walls. Arathim were everywhere here, scuttling over the ground, over the crude little houses, clinging to the ceiling. He was momentarily brought to a stunned halt—this looked more like a full-on_ invasion_ rather than the small, desperate attack force their original information had conveyed.

But it was no matter. They would take these caves back. Once skekVar launched his attack, their combined forces would sweep through these bugs and squash them all like the vermin they—

Agonizing pain shot through his shoulder. A shriek tore from his throat, and he swiped his blade in the direction the pain had come from. His sword sliced through an Arathim soldier that had descended from the ceiling on a glistening strand and sank its pincers into his upper arm.

“Watch out from above!” he shouted to anyone nearby, pushing the dead Spitter off him. The Gelfling all looked immediately to the ceiling, changing tactics to fend off Arathim from above as well as on the ground.

Dark blood was running down his arm. When was the last time he had been _wounded_ in battle?

“Lord Conqueror!” a Drenchen foot soldier, panting and bleeding freely from a gash along his cheek, appeared at his side. “There are still Grottans in the cave!”

“_What?_” SkekGra scrutinized the area, his gaze narrowed. Sure enough, he saw flashes of green-skinned Gelflings darting through the air on shimmering wings, and spotted several others dotted along the walls outside their homes. His lips peeled back in a snarl. “Why didn’t they _evacuate?_”

“Stupid shadowlings!” a Gelfling guard, Stonewood by the look of him, yelled. “They’re just getting in the way! They’ll get us all killed!”

“Forget the dirt-dwellers! It’s their fault for not getting out of here!” another replied.

SkekGra didn’t bother reminding them that they’d been sent down here to _defend_ the wretched Grottans. His soldiers were right—the frail-bodied cave-dwellers were no match against the Arathim, and they should have gone into hiding long ago. They couldn’t afford to go running after the foolish shadowlings when they should be wiping out the Arathim—

Yet even as the thought crossed his mind, he saw a particularly fat Spitter dropping from the ceiling on a thick strand, snatching one of the fleeing Grottans right out of the air. She let out a cry as the oversized crawlie wrapped all of its legs around her, holding her suspended in the air.

Before he could think, skekGra was already swinging his sword, expertly avoiding hitting the Gelfling and knocking the Spitter's head clean off. The body still dangled from the ceiling, but the legs loosened, letting the Gelfling free, though her wings and back were now soaked in slick blood, rendering her unable to fly. He caught her automatically and set her down, turning to look toward the houses.

"Th-thank you, my lord—"

"What are you all still doing here?" he asked sharply, whipping his head back toward her. "You were supposed to flee to safety!"

"I'm sorry," she choked out, sounding close to tears. "The Arathim came upon us quicker than we expected, and in greater numbers, and... Please, we need your help!"

He let out a displeased growl. What did she _think _he was doing? "Head to the Tomb of Relics. General skekVar is driving the Arathim away from that area, so you should be safe there. Tell the rest of your clan!"

"I will! Thank you!" With that, she hurried off, wings buzzing as she tried to rid them of the thick Arathim blood, and called for the other Gelfling in the air as they tried to organize a way to rescue the male Gelfling stragglers from the village.

SkekGra watched their plight for a moment before turning away; he didn't feel particularly in the mood to rescue a bunch of idiots who couldn't follow orders. But then... Spitters were Spitters, and they _had _come here to protect this clan, useless as it was. His army could mostly take care of themselves—it wouldn't look good to let any of the civilians die.

A scream echoed from a nearby tunnel, and he followed it to find an Arathim chasing a younger male Grottan, who had fallen and was now scrambling backward while the Spitter advanced on him. With a snarl, skekGra charged toward it, sweeping his sword beneath its legs to flip it over, and then stabbing it through the middle, careful not to let his sword get in too deep. The vermin gave a spasm, then stilled with a foul-smelling exhale.

"What are you doing over here?" he asked, before the childling had time to sputter out his thanks. He was getting sick of hearing it. "Haven’t you heard you’re supposed to go to the Tomb?"

"I-I know, I'm sorry!" the Gelfling said, scrambling to his feet. "I wasn't going there yet."

"_Yet?_"

"_I_ know the way there, but—but the other creatures, they don't!"

SkekGra nearly rolled his eyes at the incompetence of this tribe before realization hit him. The child wasn't talking about the Arathim. "_Other _creatures?"

"Yes, we're not sure what they are, but they came to us for help not long ago. None of us could understand them, but they're too big for our houses, and they needed fires to see well, so we—"

His eyes flashed. His body trembled. "Where are they?"

Brightening, the boy resumed stumbling down the tunnel. "Down this way! I can take you to them, my lord—"

"_No_!" he cried, starting forward, and the Gelfling looked back at him in confusion. Shaking his head, he forced himself to calm. "No, _you _need to get to safety. Tell me where these creatures are, and _I _will take care of them personally."

"Oh, _thank _you, my lord!" Smiling, the Grottan pointed down the tunnel. "They're down that way. It's just a left turn, then a right."

His tail twitched behind him, metal armor and blades grating against the stone beneath, and his fangs gleamed in a smile. "You are a _tremendous _help, young Gelfling."

The boy gazed at him in awe, barely managing to stutter another simpering "thank you" before hurrying away. SkekGra craned his head over his shoulder to watch him go, and once the Gelfling was a sufficient distance away, he bolted.

As dark as these caves were, the moss that lined them glowed strongly enough for him to discern the walls of the tunnels and follow the boy's directions easily. He slowed to a creep as he neared the last bend.

Sure enough, just up ahead he saw the glow of a campfire flickering on the walls, and caught the hushed voices murmuring in the guttural language of a race he had grown _quite_ familiar with. He caught his breath, his heart pounding.

Here, now, finally, he could make up for his mistake.

If the glow from the fire was anything to go by, they should be right around the corner, and the noises of the battle echoing from the tunnels all around would be enough to disguise the sounds of his approach.

_Perfect_.

A few skilled bounds and skekGra rounded the corner, planting himself directly in front of a low-burning campfire and the three startled Gruenaks, who immediately let out horrified _screams _at the sight of him and gripped each other tightly as a reflex. The fire danced before him in the dim cave, bathing him in a threatening orange glow.

“You! Your fates should have been the same as those of the rest of your tribe!” he snarled, the light catching his bared fangs. "Did you truly think you could escape the mighty _Conqueror_?! Pitiful _worms_!"

Squawking in terror, the creatures jumped to their feet and abandoned their camp, which skekGra expected. What he did _not_ expect was for the largest one to suddenly turn around, throwing a bucket of water over the fire and plunging the small chamber in sudden darkness. With bright spots still flying around his vision from the campfire, skekGra found himself stumbling over dampened logs and moss, only for his foot to catch on soggy, burning ashes and causing him to crash forward.

His targets stumbled down the tunnel ahead.

“No you don’t! Not _again!_” With a wild _snarl_, skekGra scrambled back to his feet, ignoring the stabbing pain in his injured shoulder, and threw himself after the Gruenaks. To his dismay, the tunnel split into four, and he skidded to a halt at the crossroads.

Which way? Just as the cacophony echoing from the tunnels all around hid the sounds of his approach from the Gruenaks, it also hid the sounds of their flight from _him_. He could hear it, certainly, but from which tunnel, he wasn't sure. They could _not_ be allowed to escape again.

Bracing himself against a wall, he closed his eyes, slowed his breathing and listened hard.

Triumphant yells of Gelfling sounded from one tunnel—the tides of battle were turning. From another tunnel came the sounds of stomping feet and battle cries. SkekVar’s battalion had arrived. It seemed this battle would end shortly.

SkekGra opened his mouth slightly and flared his nostrils, drawing in a deep breath and scenting the air. The tunnels reeked with the acrid smell of campfire smoke tinged with sour Arathim blood. Beneath all of that he caught something recent, something that reminded him of clay and metal, leading down the path to the far right. With the scent also trailed the patter of quick footsteps. He snapped his eyes back open, running his tongue over his teeth. He had them now.

Robes flapping about his ankles, he darted into the tunnel, picking up that musty, loamy scent much more strongly now. It was laced with something else, too—_fear_. He could smell it on them like rotting swamp muck caked on a nebrie. He could hear their feet pounding against the damp stone ground somewhere ahead, echoing off the tunnel walls and making it difficult to judge how far ahead they were. Smaller tunnels continued to branch off this one—he could feel the air moving through them—and he had to sniff at each of them, making sure his prey hadn’t tried to take one and lose him. So far it seemed they had continued resolutely ahead. Did they somehow know where they were going, or were they running blind?

The new sound of heavy footfalls erupted from one of the smaller side passages, causing skekGra to veer to the side as dark shadows streamed into his tunnel. Panting slightly, he faced this new enemy with bared teeth, swords raised, ready for anything—

..._Almost_ anything.

“Conqueror?” A huge shadow broke away from the others and faced him. “What are you doing over here?”

“What are _you_ doing over here?” SkekGra lowered his weapons, letting out an impatient _hiss_. The General had for some reason decided to lead his entire battalion of Gelflings through this tunnel. The oaf was letting his quarry get away!

“What am I—” skekVar sounded bewildered. He lowered his voice, probably trying to keep curious Gelflings from overhearing. “You _told_ me to come this way! Don’t tell me you’ve changed the plan again!”

Quickly he ran through the mental map he’d made of this area, and had to resist running his claws down his own face in exasperation. “You went the wrong way! You took a wrong turn somewhere!”

“...Oh.” SkekVar shuffled backwards awkwardly. The shadowy forms of his Gelfling battalion gathered around them, muttering.

“Is everything all right, my lord?” A Gelfling toting a lantern appeared beside skekVar. “Are we close to Domrak?” The Gelfling spotted skekGra and blinked in surprise. “Lord Conqueror? Is there a change of plan?”

“Agh—no, _no_,” he said. Incompetent idiots, all of them. “Listen! Just keep going down this way, the way you _were _going, then take a left down the single tunnel. If you follow that through the next chamber and then take a left and a right, you’ll get out. _Got it?_”

“You heard him! Go on!” skekVar called. “I’ll be with you shortly!” The Gelflings all chorused an acknowledgement of his command and streamed past them down the tunnel, their footsteps echoing off the rocky walls. Meanwhile, skekVar scrutinized skekGra in the dim light, the shadow of his head moving from side to side as though trying to take in their surroundings. “Why aren’t you with your battalion?”

SkekGra narrowed his eyes in a glare, not that the other Skeksis could see his expression. “I have business to attend to.”

“You’re not following the plan!” skekVar growled.

“_You’re_ the one who got lost. And the plan was _mine!_” SkekGra’s hackles rose. “I will follow it how I wish!”

“And how are you following it, exactly?” The General advanced forward a step—skekGra raised his sword by the smallest degree—and glanced around again before reaching up and snagging a hunk of glowing moss on the wall, ripping it from the stone and shoving it in skekGra’s face. “What are you after, this? Going off alone to find more craft supplies for your little performances to make yourself look better?”

“What would I want with moss?” SkekGra swatted his hand away, forcing himself to stay calm—his grip on the hilts of his weapons was like iron. He hesitated, measuring his words carefully before replying. “I am chasing deserters,” he said. “I saw a group of three cowardly survivors flee down this way.”

The General glanced over his shoulder in the direction the Gruenaks had run. “A few puny runaways? And you think leaving the battle is worth pursuing _them?_”

“We’re winning!” skekGra insisted. “If we win, but we know some survived, no matter how few…” his voice lowered into a growl, and he had to ground out the last words, “then it’s not a _victory_.”

“I… suppose.” SkekVar sounded unconvinced. He gave a sharp, stuffy inhale, as though suddenly realizing something. “You disappeared during the Gruenak battle, too.”

“I did not _disappear_, I was—”

“—Chasing more pathetic _runaways?_” skekVar finished, and gave a dark laugh.

SkekGra froze.

The General did not notice. “I never thought I’d see it. The great Conqueror has become afraid to fight!”

With the speed of a thought skekGra drew his largest sword and had it pointing at the other Skeksis’ chest, the tip brushing against his metal breastplate. “Do not mock things you don’t understand, slime-brain!”

He struggled to control his shaking.

SkekVar eyed the large sword blade aimed at his heart, all traces of humor gone. “‘_Slime-brain_’? What, are you taking lessons from the Chamberlain now?”

SkekGra prodded his sword, forcing skekVar to take a step backwards.

“Whatever you think you’re doing here,” the General growled, “the Emperor _will_ hear about all this.”

SkekGra attempted to cover up his lack of composure with a hiss through his teeth. “As he should,” he said. “And perhaps the Emperor would also like to know how incompetent you are at following a simple map with the correct route clearly marked out for you. _And_ about your earlier willingness to let an entire Gelfling clan be overrun by our Arathim enemies.”

The General’s lips curled, his short tusks glinting in the dim light. “I never realized you were such a _Gelfling-lover_.”

Rather than dignify that with a response, skekGra removed his blade with a flourish and stood up straighter, regarding him coolly. “Hmph. I believe there is a war going on while we bicker, General.”

SkekVar gave a violent start. “_Argh_, do what you want,” he said. “But I’m not leaving any of the crawlies for you to skewer.” He pushed past skekGra and stumped off down the tunnel after the Gelflings. SkekGra waited for his footfalls to fade, a hard lump lodged in his throat. His tail gave a savage swish over the ground, the blades tied to it scraping the stone.

He was losing the trust of his fellow Skeksis one by one—his honor was crumbling to pieces. And it was _their_ fault, all of it, those three hunchbacked worms and that _creature _who had dared to pluck them from his grasp under the cowardly assurance that he was the one being in all of Thra that skekGra the Conqueror could not harm. There was only one way to end it. Though he could do nothing about the urRu scum, these three would regret the fact that it had ever chosen to visit that battlefield two days ago.

He couldn’t go back to the battle now, anyway. He could just imagine the self-satisfied and smug look on the General’s face if he crawled back to the fight now, thoroughly chastised. But if they failed without his aid—

No, the others wouldn’t fail. SkekVar was a skilled general indeed, despite his other shortcomings, and their Gelfling soldiers had been trained well enough to take down a few aggravating spiders.

He, the Conqueror, the undefeated vanquisher of all enemies to the Crystal of Truth, had another task to complete today.

Of course, his prey had put a lot of distance between them by now. He could no longer hear them running down the tunnel, and it would be… _difficult_ to catch up to them. There was only one thing for it. The thought made him groan.

Cursing the Gruenaks for forcing him to resort to this—and cursing skekVar too for good measure, for distracting him long enough for them to get away—he sheathed his swords and pulled up the hems of his layered robes to reveal the pants beneath, fastening his robes to his belt.

With his legs freed, he dropped down onto all fours with a _thump_, and he _ran_.

* * *

The rain beat a steady rhythm against his hood, stinging the mysterious new wound on his shoulder.

UrGoh clutched his upper hands closer to his chest, breathing steadily as he climbed. He could feel blood seeping into his makeshift bandages; his partially-healed blisters had opened.

_The pain will pass_, he thought to himself, the words almost a chant. _The pain will pass, the pain will pass_.

Truthfully, it wasn't as terrible as it could have been. With the sort of life his counterpart preferred, he'd dealt with much worse in the past. But as he pulled his way up the mountain, the pain stood out in sharp relief. He had to resort to using his lower pair of arms to aid his ascent, which moved him along faster than before.

For if his counterpart was hurting like this, then he was _acting_, and nothing he could be doing right now was anything good.

He had to hurry.

UrGoh had left the Valley once more after a short rest and set out immediately for the High Hill where Aughra made her home, bidding farewell to urSol and urZah. He had not seen urSu. This was likely for the best… he was not sure how that encounter would have gone.

The journey had passed more quickly than he had expected. He had managed to run part of the way, something he had not attempted since the Great Conjunction and the frantic escape from the Skeksis castle.

The hill was in sight now, with the Observatory at the top barely visible for how close he was to it. His heart pounded as he finally pulled himself up onto a plateau and gazed up at it through the downpour. He hoped he was not too late, and that urSol and urZah were right—that he truly would find help here, somehow. He could not make it to the Caves of Grot to aid the Gruenak at this point, so this was his only chance.

The relentless rain made his focus fuzzy, uncertain. Every drop brought him back to the battle he had witnessed—the shrieks of pain, the flood of dark blood staining the hems of his sleeves—

He shook his head to dispel the images and forced himself forward.

Glittering, crystalline crabs skittered over the rocks around him, seeking shelter in crevasses as he approached. They, at least, seemed unbothered by the rain.

Enormous, plantlike beings stretched across the entrance to a nearby tunnel. UrGoh had traveled far enough and seen enough to know that these were not safe, but he knew what to do. Drawing in a deep breath through his nostrils, he opened his mouth, and sang.

It was not the cheering of the Podling tongue, nor the gentle notes of Gelfling songs, but a sound known only to the Mystics: a deep note that reverberated throughout Thra and its creatures, harmonizing with the world's song, if only briefly.

The plants shuddered, then calmed, easing away from the entrance on their own and allowing him in. However, he hesitated at the opening, rain dripping down his cloak. While his heart told him to hurry, his sense told him to not barge into Mother Aughra's house, for he knew not what he would find there. It would not be Aughra herself—her body, certainly, but not her spirit, still on its voyage across the stars. He had never before crossed the threshold of this place, the home of a celestial wonder wrought by science and alchemy, built specifically for Aughra by a luminous creature that seemed like the barest memory of a dream.

Whatever—or whoever—awaited him inside, it may be dangerous, if it was enough to stop a Skeksis.

If it could at all.

UrGoh could only hope.


	4. In Our Arrogance and Delusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Wanderer and the Conqueror see something that changes everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Jaywings here! Here is what was meant to be the second part of the third chapter, but ah... as you can see, it turned a bit... long. Thank you again for all the comments and feedback on the previous chapters, and even some fan art!! Also, sorry there aren't any illustrations in chapter three yet, but I am currently working on one and BC might do another. I might even do another one for chapter two as well.
> 
> Thank you to ThePrairieNerd for beta-reading this!

The scent of terrified Gruenak was strong here.

SkekGra tore along the ground, his robes a flash of blood-red in the dim green glow of the tunnels, tail dragging heavily behind him and talons clinking against stone. He flared his nostrils, breathing deeply, but it hardly seemed necessary_—_the trail continued straight ahead.

His claws kicked up dirt and moss, sharp rocks occasionally cutting into his talon-tips, aggravating the burns on his hands and probably causing them to bleed anew, but he couldn't stop now. The further he ran, the more he could sense the clay-and-metal scent of his prey, still fleeing as far as they could from his advance. The tunnels he followed grew more and more narrow, and several times he found himself having to squeeze through tight passages. Part of him wondered if he was truly going the right way, but the scent of Gruenak only grew stronger—as did, strangely, the scent of fresh air. But how could there could be fresh air this deep underground, unless...?

Anger surged through his veins at the realization—these cowards knew a way out of here and were heading right for it!

Sure enough, he found himself moving up an incline, steeper and steeper with the air feeling fresher and more humid. The tunnels grew slick with mud and rainwater and he nearly slipped at one point, digging his talons into the rock and earth to steady himself before resuming his climb. He was amazed they could have made it this far, but then, these things _did _live in caves themselves. They probably felt at home here.

Just as he thought the tunnel would never end, it opened up into an enormous cavern, the Gruenak scent hitting him full in the face. He pushed himself back onto his hind legs; rain trickled from above, though this time it did not affect him, for he was on a mission—

But then, he saw… _it_.

* * *

Darkness enfolded urGoh as he ambled into the cave, rendering him blind.

He could not tell how wide this space was. His feet scraped against sharp rocks scattered over the ground, but the area around his arms was empty, he could tell the air did not press in too closely. Just as he was wondering how long this passage was, the space directly in front of him pulled open, flooding the cave with light and his ears with a clanking, whirring noise.

"Hm? AH!"

Startled, urGoh raised his head, looking for the source of the voice; of all things, he hadn't expected to hear such a tiny cry.

The voice’s owner came into view: a simple Podling carrying a feather duster. She crept forward, peered through the doorway at him, and scrambled backward with a loud scream. "_AH! _NO!"

"Um..." Passing through the door, urGoh watched as the Podling continued to back away from him, emitting a noise that sounded like a cross between a whimper and a growl. He regarded her calmly. "Hello."

That only made the Podling give a startled squawk, which grew in volume as she tripped over a stack of books she had evidently been in the process of reorganizing. Frantically she pushed herself up into a sitting position, and looked over her shoulder as though to check on something.

Following her gaze, urGoh spotted a quietly-snoring form beneath the Orrery: Mother Aughra herself. Or the physical part of her, anyway.

The Podling whipped her head between Aughra and urGoh several times before jumping to her feet and brandishing her feather duster at him with as much ferocity as a Podling could muster. She spoke quickly in her own tongue, and urGoh could only catch a few words: _back_, _Mother Aughra_, _hurt, harm, monster_.

"I am no... monster," urGoh said, taking a step closer, but the Podling only swung her feather duster and snapped something sarcastic and vaguely threatening. "I have come... seeking help."

"NO!" the Podling cried, finally daring to dart closer and bat at him her makeshift weapon.

The feathers tickled urGoh's nose, and he swung his head to the left, then to the right, the wrinkles in his snout deepening.

Shouting triumphantly, the Podling swatted the feather duster at him once more in what she likely hoped was a finishing blow. And urGoh let out a tremendous sneeze, sending the Podling sailing backwards in an explosion of feathers.

He blinked, shaking his mane. "My... apolo... gies."

Now halfway across the room, the Podling dazedly sat up, looked at the empty handle that had once been her feather duster, and gave a cry of despair.

"It is... all... right," urGoh said, moving closer. "I mean... no harm. I merely... need help."

The Podling frowned at him, her eyes narrowed in a challenging expression.

For a split second he nearly told her about the Skeksis going after the Gruenaks, but then he remembered: the Gelflings and Podlings both saw the Skeksis as Lords of the Crystal, as heroes. If he spoke against them, he would be putting his entire cause in danger. Instead, he chose his words carefully. "There are innocent creatures... being hunted... by a _monster_. A... _true _monster."

This seemed to catch the Podling's attention, and she carefully rose to her feet. The way she held herself remained cautious, but she no longer seemed to regard him as an open threat, at least.

"I need... something. Something... powerful." Slowly his gaze turned back toward Aughra's unmoving form. "Perhaps... something Mother Aughra... knew about...?"

A quick scan of the room revealed not much of interest. Certainly nothing that could be of use in halting a bloodthirsty Skeksis intent on massacre...

The Podling bit her knuckle in thought at his words, humming. She glanced from him to Aughra again a few times before nodding and toddling off to another part of the Observatory. Every few steps she turned to give urGoh a sharp glare, as though daring him to try anything. Still urGoh remained calm, hoping that whatever she found, it would be something that could truly help him.

The Podling shifted several piles of unorganized objects from one corner of the room before giving a shrill, but triumphant "_ah-ha_!" Lifting something up, she turned around, presenting it to urGoh with a smug look.

It was a basket of crystal shards.

Curious, urGoh moved closer to her, peering down at the objects. They were all vaguely similar in size and shape, and identical in color, each of them being clear as... well, crystal. The shape reminded him vaguely of the Crystal of Truth itself. But what help would these rocks be?

As though reading his thoughts, the Podling went off talking again, though slowly enough this time that he could pick up more words: _Mother Aughra... study... crystals... important..._

"What do... they do?" he asked.

The Podling only shrugged with a noncommittal grunt.

Well, if Aughra found these shards to be important, then they must be. With a nod, urGoh reached to pick one of them up, but the Podling yanked the basket backward with an angry retort.

"No!" she cried, holding it high above her head—which was, of course, not _actually_ out of his reach, but he wasn’t about to force the crystals from her. "Nuh-uh! No!" The Podling went on, saying, from what he could tell, that these were _Aughra's_, and he could not keep them.

"Please," he said, sweeping his tail across the floor in impatience. "Time... is of... the essence."

The Podling frowned, staring down at the basket again and rattling the contents as she carried it around urGoh, so she had a better view of Aughra. She gazed at her for a moment, then back to the basket, and with a grunt set it down in front of him with a clatter. She then held up a finger, muttering that Mother Aughra would probably not miss just _one _of them.

"Yes. One... will do."

He hoped.

But which one? There were dozens in the basket, and he got the feeling that they were not all the same. He glanced at the Podling, but she didn't seem to know any more about them than he did. He fervently wished he could ask Aughra. Who was he supposed to ask in her stead? Thra itself?

While in thought, his eyes strayed upward to fix on the Orrery, which he had avoided focusing on for as long as he could. Shining, iridescent models of planets and moons swept through the air in infinite spirals, the strange machine clanking away and never slowing. Aughra’s spirit was somewhere out there, exploring and dancing among the stars. With a strange pang of envy, urGoh forced his attention back to the shards. They glittered at his feet, all looking remarkably similar.

He held his hand over the basket and closed his eyes in concentration. At least some of these definitely had magical properties—he could feel his fingertips buzzing.

The little Podling edged closer to him, apparently trying to act nonchalant as though hoping he wouldn’t notice her, before reaching out and prodding one of his lower arms. She jerked backwards and stared at it as though worried it would bite her.

UrGoh merely twiddled the fingers of that hand and smiled at her. “Four arms,” he said. “They are useful for things, like… juggling.” He paused. “If I could… juggle.”

The Podling did not look eased by the attempt at humor. If anything, she looked more concerned.

UrGoh placed a hand on his chest. “I am… urGoh,” he said. “And… you?”

The little caretaker peered at him suspiciously. “Fedle,” she said at last, nodding importantly.

UrGoh inclined his head. “It is an… honor to meet you… Caretaker Fedle.”

The Podling looked slightly taken aback by the greeting, but pleased.

“_Doza aminia!_” she squeaked, and made a fluttery little bow. A little tentatively, she peered at him and said, “You—urGoh—good?”

He hummed in affirmation, dipping his head again.

Fedle the Podling poked his lower arm again. “No monster?”

UrGoh smiled. “No.”

The Podling stood up straighter with a “hmph!” and gave a sharp nod, seeming to accept his presence at last. “_Ta?_” she said. “Want _ta?_”

UrGoh blinked down at her. “That would… be lovely,” he said, and the Podling bustled off to fix the hot drink.

He reached into the basket and fished out a shard—it was warm in his hand. Out of curiosity he clinked it against some of the others, achieving a pleasant noise but nothing overly interesting. Why would Aughra keep a pile of crystal shards in a box?

His thoughts slammed to a halt. Barely moving his head, he glanced slowly from the prone form of Aughra to the rock in his hand.

_Crystal shards_…

Aughra was looking for the missing piece from the Crystal of Truth.

UrGoh had not been in the Castle when the Crystal had been broken. No Mystic had been—the sixteen survivors had fled for their lives with the few other creatures who had managed to escape the Skeksis’ initial blind, murderous fury. The whole race from the Castle was blurred, indistinct, originating from his first few hours of confusing, terrifying consciousness in this strange new form.

He had not been there to see the Crystal cracked. But he remembered the feeling of it shattering. The entire world had shaken. Great fissures had appeared in the ground and it took him and the rest of his brethren to hold them back with song, to save all of their lives…

Hm… _song_.

UrGoh hummed a low note, opening his mouth and letting forth a deeper, richer sound, watching the shard in his hand. It seemed to tremble—by the slight clinking from the basket, it sounded as though the others were too. He tried different tones, seamlessly raising and lowering the pitch of his voice until he had to take a breath. Moments after the sound faded, the shards stilled. He stood with the shard held flat on his palm and waited for something miraculous to occur.

“_Ta!_” a Podling voice said proudly, and he looked down to see Fedle back at his elbow, offering up a steaming cup. It smelled delicious. Not exactly the miracle he was hoping for, though.

“Thank you,” he said, taking the cup and draining half of it in one gulp. He had not realized how thirsty the journey here had made him.

“Stones help?” Fedle asked, sipping from a smaller mug of her own.

UrGoh gave a disappointed sigh, feeling a tinge of frustration. No, the stones were not helping. At his core he felt that he was on the right track. He had been meant to find these shards, but he did not know what to _do_ with them, and he had precious little time if he was to save the Gruenak refugees. If it wasn’t already too late.

Regret pierced his heart like a thorn—that he had sent the creatures away into the caves, that he had not insisted they stay with him at least a little longer. He could even have brought them to the Valley, perhaps, and the others may have let them stay…

As he took another gulp of _ta _to help him swallow back his guilt, he heard Fedle give an interested hum, and turned to her.

"Juggle?" she asked, waving her free hand casually at him.

“What?” urGoh said distractedly, staring at her, and she pointed to his flat palm. “No, no, I’m… not going to try… juggling…”

He froze.

He hadn't noticed it immediately, calloused as his hands were, but the shard he held was... trembling—no, _twitching_. Moving of its own accord.

Carefully he set his cup on the floor and closer to watch the crystal shard in his hand. Fedle leaned in closer too, giving an impressed _oooo_! On a whim, urGoh held the crystal out further, and its twitches grew stronger, until it began to _spin_.

It spun in the palm of his hand, like an erratic compass. Or perhaps it _was _a compass? He leaned in even closer, the tip of his snout inches from his hand; quite suddenly, the shard stopped spinning, snapping in one direction and trembling faintly, the long end pointed forward.

Following the point of the shard, urGoh traced his eyes up, but only saw the Orrery. He sighed—he _still_ didn’t understand what meaning one was supposed to derive from the thing, incredible thought it was. He feared he would lose himself if he watched it for too long, and made to turn away.

He could not.

Something within him was... drawn to the Orrery. Everything else around him seemed to slow down, Fedle's curious speech fading into the background, while the enormous contraption before him seemed to speed up. It moved faster and faster, until it should have been nothing but a blur—and yet he was suddenly aware of every turn of the planets, every rotation of the stars, and it made perfect sense.

And then... he saw _it_.

* * *

The cavern before him was enormous, yet it was entirely filled with a system of massive roots that twisted all throughout the cave and over the ground. For a brief moment he wondered what plants these were, only to remember—of course, these were the roots of a sole plant: the Sanctuary Tree.

He’d seen it before, of course. It wasn’t all that impressive—just some massive tree that the Gelflings worshipped or something.

Had this been any other occasion, he may have spent more time looking around the place for treasures or anything else of interest, but right now his mind was set on one thing and one thing only: to find the deserters, and kill them.

Sure enough, they _were _here—he could see the three of them trying to make their way toward the central mass of roots.

"_You_!" he cried, and they looked back at him, yelling in horror. "Deserters! Get back here!"

In response, the three began to climb faster, and skekGra once again dropped down on all fours, barreling toward them. But a sudden thought made him take a split-second change of course, and he leaped onto a mass of roots immediately next to the one the Gruenaks were climbing. He scrambled up it, quickly passing the creatures, and drew his largest sword. With a wicked grin, he swung the sword downward, slicing the roots the Gruenak were climbing.

The roots were much, much stronger than he'd anticipated, however, and the blade only went about halfway through.

Before he could fully pull the sword back out to swing it again, the entire cavern began to shake and _groan_, as though there were something in its depths that were both alive, and _massive_. It echoed off the walls, seeming to come from all around them at once, and skekGra frantically yanked his sword away and redoubled his grip on the roots, heart pounding. _Earthquake?_

The Gruenaks had a harder time keeping their balance than he did, and were forced to drop back down onto the solid rock of the caves. At least that meant they were farther from the surface, but the thought that they might escape _again _made skekGra’s blood boil.

With an enraged cry, he twisted around on the roots and threw himself after them.

But he stumbled to a halt almost at once as his head seemed to fill with noise.

_ **You...** _

It was a _voice_. Unfamiliar to him, and seeming to echo throughout the cavern. Frantically he turned his head this way and that, but saw no one other than the Gruenaks, still stunned from the quaking. It didn’t sound like a Skeksis, but if _anyone_ were to witness him here…

"Who's there?" he cried. "Show yourself!"

_ **You can already see me, O dark half of GraGoh…** _

“_Don’t speak that name!_” skekGra spat out, hackles raised, his own voice like splintered glass in his ears. He whirled around for the source of the voice, sword poised to kill, but there was nothing to attack. The voice came from nowhere. The only ones around were the three cowering Gruenaks, a few scattered birds fleeing toward the fresh air at the top of the cavern, and the…

...The tree.

The enormous, gnarled trunk and tangled roots suddenly took on a new light, becoming menacing forms that loomed over him rather than a harmless feature of the background. He faced the trunk, teeth bared, but ready solutions to this newfound problem eluded him.

This was ridiculous, of course—no Skeksis would believe in a talking tree—no Skeksis _should_ believe it—

_**I have merely called you what you are, **_the voice said.

The words rang in his head, a deep voice-that-wasn’t-a-voice. Speech that came from thought alone. It was a familiar way of speaking—he remembered—as if from a… _dream_—

“_Stop!_” He balked, and there was a clatter; he realized his hands were clapped over the sides of his head, and his sword had fallen to the ground. “Lies! Stop speaking! You’re—you’re a _tree!_”

_**Well-observed**_, the voice said mildly. _**I am able to communicate with very few creatures of Thra. Even Mother Aughra cannot hear my voice. But for some reason **_**you**_**, offworlder, you fractured urSkek**—_

A harsh sound tore from skekGra’s throat and he ripped his talons away from his head. One flick of his tail and his sword handle was kicked off the ground and back into his claws. He brandished the sword tip at the trunk, pointing it at any spot in the ancient bark that looked vulnerable.

_**You can hear me**_.

“I hear _nothing!_” skekGra growled. He twisted around, eyes flashing, hunting for the Gruenak cowards once again. Whatever was going on, whatever was wrong with him—the strange feelings, the dreams, hearing _voices _now—it all tied back to them. When they were disposed of this would all be over with.

The Gruenaks had scurried toward the other end of the cavern, either hoping to find another way to climb out or to vanish down the tunnels again. SkekGra scrambled after them, darting in front of them to block their escape and snapping his beak inches from the largest Gruenak’s face. The small group skidded to a halt, looking at him in abject terror.

“You are not going anywhere,” he said lowly. “Not anymore.”

“B-back!” the lead Gruenak barked out at him, one arm spread in an attempt to shield the other two. “_Back!_”

It pulled a knife from its pocket and brandished it at skekGra. The blade looked like something that might be found on the Skeksis banquet table for cleaning their teeth.

SkekGra’s lips pulled back over his fangs in a smile. He straightened up a bit, fingers twitching on the handle of his own sword. “Look at this,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “Now we can tell those Grottan fools I was provoked.”

He raised his sword, the eyes of the Gruenaks widening in fear. For the briefest instant, he envisioned himself the way they must see him—a creature clothed in red, fangs bared, covered in the green stains of Arathim blood and wielding the weapons that had slaughtered their friends, their family, their entire clan—by Aughra’s eye, he couldn’t have looked more like a monster if he’d tried... But no, wasn’t that the point?

Before he could make a move, the sturdy roots under his feet jerked, casting him to the ground so that he landed hard on his wrist, jolting his already-injured shoulder and sending a flare of pain through his bandaged fingers.

_ **They told you to back away.** _

The voice was now cold, a hard edge to it. SkekGra clawed his way to his feet, letting out a ragged hiss. The Gruenaks had seized their chance and were running again, clambering over the networked lattice of roots and making their way toward the top. He was after them in a heartbeat, only for the tree roots to retreat under his feet again and throw him once more to the ground.

_ **You will not destroy more lives.** _

Again he climbed to his feet. Again he was tossed to the ground.

_ **You can hear my voice, false Lord of the Crystal. Thra gave you this gift for a reason.** _

“_I hear nothing!_” skekGra shrieked again. He fell onto all fours and sank his claws deep into the thready roots, refusing to be shaken again, and crawled after his prey.

_ **Yet, you respond. So. You obviously can hear. And you know that you cannot be this Conqueror anymore. You can no longer be who you once were.** _

SkekGra gave a great leap, bounding after the fleeing creatures and cutting off their escape once more, feeling rather like an arduff toying with its prey. He watched the Gruenaks slide back to the ground, breathing hard. “I _am_ the Conqueror! I _am _a lord of the Crystal of Truth!”

_ **If you are still who you say, then why do these three still live?** _

“Because I have not yet managed to _kill_ them.” SkekGra dropped back to the ground, his grip tight on his sword and his eyes narrowed to slits.

_ **You have had plenty of chances.** _

SkekGra bolted after the Gruenaks and ignored the voice. It was not worth conversing with. His prey would not escape again. This all ended _here_, and there would be no one left to defy him!

Defy him by… running desperately for their lives…

He closed in on the fleeing creatures, and at last, at _long_ last, he snagged the largest by the collar of its shirt and yanked it toward him, the thing letting out a strangled squeal. The other two cried out in horror and huddled together. SkekGra dragged the Gruenak around to face the tree, raising his arm high enough to leave the creature dangling with only its toes brushing the ground.

“You still believe I am not the Conqueror?” he challenged.

**_You once said you were light-bringers_.**

The voice was like a slam to his chest and he choked on what he was about to say next, frozen with the struggling Gruenak still in his grasp. “How—”

_ **Pilgrims. Ambassadors. Dazzling travelers from another world, distributors of knowledge and culture. ** _ **Light-bringers_. This is what the urSkeks promised upon arriving through the Crystal._**

He knew that phrase. _Light-bringers_. He remembered the words, on the edge of his mind, fuzzy recollections from centuries ago—_millenia_—

_ **Where is that light now, you shard of the urSkek? Dwelling in the urRu? Faded entirely? Or do you believe you have the chance to be whole again?** _

The cavern seemed darker, his vision blurred. He swallowed hard; it was difficult to breathe.

“I _am_ whole,” he said, his voice shaking traitorously. “I am not a half-creature. I am not part of an _urSkek—_” he spat out the name like a curse— “I am not fractured from _anything_—I am a Lord of the Crystal, one of the Twice-Nine—I am _Skeksis_, not _URSKEK!_”

His mind reeled. Before today he had not heard that name in hundreds of trine, let alone uttered it himself. It repulsed him, it felt vile on his tongue. Yet… in saying it…

_**There is longing in your voice**_.

A sob erupted from his chest, and he crumpled in on himself, his grip on his quarry going slack. The Gruenak immediately sensed its opportunity and attempted to break free.

NO! _NO!_

He gasped, the air painful in his lungs; he snagged the creature’s collar again, straightening back up and fighting to claw his frantic, spiralling thoughts back under control.

“You know _nothing_, you- you moldering piece of driftwood!” he snarled. His broken voice only served to fuel his anger. “I’ll come back here with a dozen Skeksis—we’ll burn you to the ground until you’re nothing but _ash_—it’s our right! It’s our duty! We’ll tell the pathetic Grottans that their cursed tree was _diseased_, rotten to the core, and they will worship the Castle and the Crystal as they should, and the Gruenak worms will be wiped from existence for refusing our rule!”

_**But you do not have to do this**_. The tree was speaking quicker now, but softer, more gently. _**You can be so much more, skekGra. Your Mystic counterpart has given you a fleeting glimpse of how it was on the other side, and you still cling to that image with a desperate hope, whether you acknowledge it or not.**_

In his mind’s eye he flew back to that moment of contact, the lightning-strike of _wholeness_ he had felt; but also the bottomless, drowning sensation of remorse, a black sea that, once he fell in, he would never be able to emerge from—

The Gruenak in his grasp had stilled, but it was trembling, its eyes darting from skekGra to its fellows, and sweeping around the cavern as though searching for a way out. The other two had backed away but seemed reluctant to escape and leave this one behind. How predictable.

_**You do not have to do this**_, the tree repeated. _**Let them go. Let them go, skekGra.**_

He looked down at the Gruenak that he still held by the nape of the neck, a shaky breath escaping between his teeth.

_ **You have changed.** _

His head snapped up, a screeching roar scraping his throat raw. “I have_ NOT_ CHANGED! I’ll _prove_ it!”

SkekGra released his hold on the Gruenak’s shirt, dropping it to its knees on the ground. In one smooth motion he swung his sword in an arc and severed the creature’s head from its body.

The cavern rang with silence.

He did not hear the body slump to the ground. All he heard were raindrops and his own breath, sounding extraordinarily loud in his ears. He felt detached from his body; his sword hung limply from his fingers, and he sensed rather than saw the mother Gruenak screaming, holding her child close and hiding his face in her shoulder, shielding his view.

His heart gave a strange lurch. One of them was a childling? Why had he not noticed until now?

Without warning he was yanked backwards and slammed into the tree trunk, the force knocking the breath from him. There was a tightness across his chest—he scrabbled at it to find a vine wrapped securely around him. More flew in from nowhere, wrapping around his arms, legs, and tail, rendering him immobile. His hand strained for his sword but it had fallen, probably when he was snagged by the first vine, and he could not reach the one still sheathed at his back.

“Help!” he cried as soon as he got his breath back, his voice pitifully shrill.

But there was no one around to help him, save for the Gruenak who had just watched him murder her mate.

_ **So. I was wrong.** _

The voice was loud, now. Thunderously loud, pounding in his head and making him wince. The vines binding his body tightened, and he gasped.

_**Thra was wrong**_.

Something caught around his neck.

“No—” He wheezed, struggling against it, tears springing to his eyes—he hadn’t even known that was possible. Through bleary vision he saw the two remaining Gruenaks back away, turning around and vanishing down the tunnel again. Roots grew up over the tunnel entrance, closing it off from him. Not that it mattered now.

The Gruenak he had killed was still sprawled on the ground. SkekGra’s gaze seemed drawn to the still form, unable to tear himself away.

_You have done enough_.

His counterpart—the light half of the luminous being they had once been—had said that to him, on a blood-drenched battlefield surrounded by slaughtered creatures that had wanted nothing more than to be allowed to live in peace. The words now rang unbidden in his head once more, and would not cease.

He wanted to scream. To yell, to curse until his throat was raw. He wanted to claw at his face and curl up alone in the dark to sort through the tangle of confused images and feelings bombarding his mind, make some amount of sense from it all, but the vine curled tighter around his neck. His vision was going black around the edges.

SkekGra strained weakly against the vines, struggling simply to take a breath. “Have mercy—”

_**Why should I, when you never did? **_The voice sighed, sounding drained. _**I am tired**_. _**I am so tired of watching my world be devastated by the likes of your kind. When you met the Mystic by chance, whatever happened between you, all of Thra was shaken. I thought, perhaps, that it was enough.**_

** _But I was wrong. A nature such as yours can clearly not be changed. And I am certain that in time, all of Thra would forgive me for this._ **

The vine constricted around skekGra’s throat so tightly that his eyesight went black and he froze in terror. He was going to die. It was unthinkable. He was going to _die_, here. He was going to be killed by a _tree_, in the claustrophobic home of the weakest Gelfling clan on Thra, when no Skeksis had died for five hundred trine.

He was going to die.

He tried to say something, one last plea perhaps, or a curse, or nonsense, but nothing came out but a choked, garbled rasp.

And then the pressure around his neck and body released, and he toppled to the foot of the tree in a heap. The world swam back into focus and he gulped down air, his stomach churning.

_**But I **_**preserve**_** life**, _the tree said. _**I give life, never take it. **_The voice took on a bitter, scathing tone. _**That’s for the Skeksis to do, isn’t it?**_

SkekGra made no response. He wasn’t sure he could move, let alone speak.

_ **So go on, then, if you have not changed. Burn me to the ground. Run after the mother and her child and strike them down, bring yet another species to ruin. Continue on with the destructive cycle trying to sate your unending greed and rot away with the rest of your kind, until this world is dead. Maybe then you will finally understand what you have done.** _

** _Or perhaps even that will not be enough._ **

SkekGra remained still on the ground, his chest heaving in heavy gasps. One of his hands gingerly rubbed at his throat. He made no effort to do anything else, other than to lie prone on the ground, surrounded by the stench of wet dirt and metal mingled with blood.

Still the tree went on. _**Perhaps you will never understand just what you have been doing to this world. Perhaps you will live your entire life blaming everything else for your problems, or not caring.**_

Had the tree told him these things mere days ago, he would still be arguing. He would fight through the pain in his throat, continue to scream, and maybe even set the tree on fire himself, as he'd proposed, before going after the remaining Gruenak survivors. But now, he didn't. He didn't answer; he had nothing to say.

It took him a moment to realize the tree had stopped talking. The chamber had gone eerily silent, with the steady fall of rain from the world above the only noise he could hear. He wasn't sure just how long he'd been lying there, still too shocked to move, and for a time he almost wondered if this had all been a dream—if he'd slipped and fallen, cracked his head, and found himself in another nightmare, like the one he'd been in last night.

But then something happened. There was a quiet shifting noise, creaking wood against rough stone, and skekGra lifted his head to see that the tree had uncovered the passage to the tunnel that the Gruenaks had run down.

_**They've gone that way, if you intend to finish the cruelties you started. **_The tree sounded… strange, as though unbearably defeated.

"No."

It took him a moment to realize that the word had come from his own throat. But, even realizing that, he made no efforts to take it back.

The tree was silent.

Finally skekGra brought two of his arms beneath his chest, pushing himself upright and fighting to his feet. But he did not continue down the clear path to the survivors.

_**I suppose they've run too far by now, **_the tree went on. _**Though I rarely see a Skeksis give up.**_

Give up. The phrase burned in his ears, left his stomach feeling rotten. Giving up, failure—these were things he had feared, terrors that lurked at the back of his mind as he went out for conquest after conquest. If he failed, if he gave up, could he really be a Skeksis? Could he truly be the Conqueror? If he dared show his face after such an occurrence_, _he would surely face punishment.

Yet now, the thought of going after the mother and child again felt... _wrong_.

And the very idea that it was wrong seemed wrong in and of itself.

But that was how he felt, inexplicable as it was. Slowly he craned his head toward the opened tunnel, and slowly he turned away. "No," he said again, his voice hoarse. "I am not giving up. But I am... not doing this anymore."

Again the chamber was silent. Even the rain outside seemed to quiet.

_ **...Perhaps I was wrong, again?** _

SkekGra looked at the tree, though there was nothing to focus on; the... object? creature? being? filled up so much of the cavern that it was hard to take it in. But a soft creaking noise caught his attention and he turned toward it, mildly alarmed to see what appeared to be another vine heading in his direction. But this one did not seem malicious—it wasn’t rushing up to strangle him again, as the others had. On top of that, it bore a flower on its end, the petals slowly opening as it neared him.

_ **If you have truly changed, then I have something to share with you. But I can only do so... if you accept.** _

For a long moment he stared at the flower, and one of his hands found the hilt of a knife.

It would be very, very easy to cut through the vine. Slice the flower clean off, as easily as he had separated the Gruenak's head from its body. One swift movement, and he could effectively refuse the tree's offer, turn around, and go back to chase the survivors, to slaughter the former denizens of this cave, to fight endless battles, as he had for hundreds of trine.

And yet he reached forward with a burned, bandaged hand, and touched the flower.

And then... he _saw._

_ _

* * *

_UrGoh couldn't breathe._

_He felt as though he were sailing through the stars as he had lifetime upon lifetime ago, the void of space threatening to draw the life out of him, the air out of his lungs—or so he assumed, though it felt more like something was wrapped around his neck, throttling him. Stars and planets sailed past him, and he wondered if he was truly in space, or just enraptured in sight of the Orrery. Everything moved so quickly, and he watched the paths of the heavenly bodies in a daze of wonder, in spite of his pain and discomfort._

_UrGoh had not intentionally observed the stars before; he’d avoided looking at them as he traveled by night. He was a Wanderer, not a destination-seeker, and had no need of navigation. The sight of worlds beyond Thra made his soul ache; he felt the prickling at the edges of the crater in his heart, the place where something was missing, had always been missing, and he had always done his best to ignore. So he ignored the stars._

_But now they were all around him, and they were beautiful. Like billions upon billions of glimmering crystal shards._

_As they moved, three began to stand out, brighter by far than all the rest: the Three Brothers._

When single shines the triple sun...

_The suns were drawing nearer and nearer with every rotation. Soon they would be united once more, as they had thousands of trine past—the Great Conjunction was coming soon, and urGoh felt himself overcome with a sense of urgency._

_But... urgency for _what_?_

* * *

_SkekGra's ears were filled with noise._

_Impossibly loud, cacophonic _noise_: screaming, crying, metal clashing, arrows twanging, flesh being pierced and torn. The sounds of battle—something that he should have looked forward to, but now left him feeling unsettled and sick. Above that, however, was the sound of Skeksis laughter, which grew louder and louder until it overtook all other sounds. The screams, in particular, grew quieter and fewer until he could hear them no more._

_He saw the faceless, silhouetted forms of eighteen Skeksis bearing staffs and gathered in a tight circle around the Crystal, which glowed brilliantly violet. It was the Ceremony of the Sun, with every one of the Twice-Nine thriving on life given by the Crystal. But the vision was a lie—two of the ones he saw now had not lived to ever take part in the Ceremony, they had been dead for half a thousand trine, though now he could not even tell which ones they were._

_SkekGra realized he was holding a hand out to them, stirred with an emotion that… he couldn’t explain._

They don’t even know what will happen.

_The Skeksis voices, meanwhile, faltered but then continued to laugh and snort and talk over each other endlessly—bickering, taunting, mocking, gossiping, chattering about weapons, outfits, their latest food craving, and he clasped his talons over his ears, only wanting it to _stop_._

_But the voices only grew louder._

_ **Is this not what you always wanted to hear?** _

* * *

_Out of the endless, star-strewn infinity, Thra, an orb of shimmering blue and green, drew closer to him—or did he draw closer to it? Its surface peeled away like a wrapper covering a smooth stone, unfolding before him like a map. He could see every land, every sea, every cave marked in ink, and his eyes took it all in hungrily, trying to commit it to memory—to find every inch of Thra he had not yet explored, so that he could travel there in the future._

_But he couldn't. Try as he might to focus on other aspects, he found his eyes drawn to specific points on the map: the Swamp of Sog, The Caves of Grot, the city of Ha'rar, and others. Gelfling civilizations—no, not just civilizations. It was the places the different Gelfling _clans _lived._

_Before him, the map began to distort, warp and tear. Stone-in-the-Wood was ripped away as though shredded by talons, then the Caves of Grot, and on and on, each location torn away, leaving gaping holes. UrGoh reached out with all four arms to grab the missing pieces, but when he tried to place them back, they didn't fit._

_Sorrow gripped him, though he did not know why; almost a tear-rending frustration that he should be able to fix this but couldn’t, he _had_ to fix this, and the stars around him were a mocking reminder that once, long ago, he had power that would have allowed him to... _

* * *

_A strange, blue-white light swam in skekGra’s vision. He saw the Castle as if from afar, bathed in the light._

_When he suddenly found himself standing in one of the corridors, he was nearly blinded by it, his nostrils clogged with a sickeningly sweet scent reminiscent of decaying flesh. He heard talk and laughter from the banquet hall; peering inside, he found his fellow Skeksis drinking goblets full of luminescent, milky blue-white liquid, laughing and cheering and belching as they gorged themselves and drank. It actually wasn't much different from their usual feasts_, _and yet... it _was_. There was something different this time, the others’ behavior more gluttonous, more riotous, more _grotesque_._

_He watched Emperor skekSo spill some of the glowing liquid down his throat, and balked as the entire castle shuddered. Yet none of the other Skeksis seemed to notice. SkekAyuk took a deep swig from his own goblet, and the castle shuddered and groaned again._

What's wrong with you?! _skekGra cried out to them. _Can't you feel it?

_But his voice was drowned out by their endless cheers and chatter._

_ **You shun the triumph of your own kind?** _

* * *

_The map drew closer to urGoh, taking him nearer and nearer to the loathed Castle of the Crystal._

_He wanted to pull away—he did not want to be anywhere near _them_—but it only drew him closer, until he saw the inked lines of the castle rise up from the flat surface, folding and unfolding until it was a three-dimensional object—a paper replica of the castle itself. He phased through the walls as though they were smoke, pulled farther and farther into the castle, floating through passages he had the vaguest memories of running down, hundreds of trine ago._

_Tumbling through one last wall, he found himself face to face with the Crystal of Truth itself. Unlike the castle walls around him, it was not made of paper—it was real._

_He could _feel _it._

_He could feel its pain._

* * *

_SkekGra tried again to cry out to his brethren to stop as the world convulsed around him, but his voice died in his throat._

_Before his eyes, the others had changed. They were not _themselves. _Or, they were, but they were _wrong_. They were not... alive. Or they shouldn't be alive. And yet..._

_Emperor skekSo lifted a glass, seemingly unaware as one of his claws fell out and landed with a _splash_ in the tureen sitting in front of him. SkekEkt's once-beautiful face grew more shriveled and ugly by the second, his hair becoming wiry and gray. SkekSil, seated next to skekTek, suddenly turned with a savagery that even skekGra had not known the slippery Chamberlain could possess and clawed out the Scientist’s eye, then resumed eating as though nothing had happened, leaving skekTek looking stunned with dark blood gushing down his face._

_The merrymaking had vanished from their feeding—it now seemed hurried, desperate. And yet the more they ate, the more rotten they became. SkekSo tipped his glass back, frantically licking at the last drops of liquid, but his tongue shriveled and turned to dust. SkekTek, still bleeding, was hastily snapping food off of his plate, even as his robes and flesh seemed to crumble into ash. And skekLach was scooping handfuls of soup into her mouth, taking no heed to the fact that her flesh was melting off her face, dripping down into the very bowl she was drinking from._

_SkekGra bolted out of the chamber onto a balcony, caught himself against the wall, and retched._

_Again the floor beneath him shook, and when he finally saw why, horror gripped his spine like the long claws of an Arathim. It was not the castle that was shaking and groaning._

_It was _Thra.

_ **Do you know where your path is heading?** _

* * *

_The Crystal blazed before urGoh as he set eyes on it for the first time in five hundred trine. But it was not the Crystal of Truth—not as it was supposed to be. Rather than the brilliant white light it usually gave out, it was a dim, agonized violet hue, full of cracks within and without. For a single moment he even thought he glimpsed the silhouettes of Skeksis gathered around it. It pained his own heart to look upon the very heart of Thra in this state. And then he spotted the hole—the spot where a shard had been broken away._

_He placed his hand on his chest, feeling the Crystal's emptiness and incompleteness as though it were his own._

_Yet... no, that was not true._

_He'd always felt this way._

* * *

_Everything around the castle was a complete wasteland, with no life growing for miles around. Every time the planet shook and moaned, deep veins opened up in the ground, a violent purple light shining within them. If the desolation around him was a terrifying sight to behold, the dark veins were somehow worse, spreading a poison throughout the already-poisoned land._

_And still the other Skeksis sat in the banquet hall, feasting and cheering as they gorged themselves on what was likely the last of their own food supply._

_And yet, as much as they ate and drank, nothing would fill them; anything they swallowed spilled back onto the floor as though their skin was vapor. They were all empty. All of them, incomplete._

_“Why are you showing me this?” skekGra gasped at last, clutching at his head with both hands. He willed himself to leave the vision, to pull his consciousness from the tree’s grasp, but his feet remained rooted to the castle stone and his talons stayed locked around the center of the flower._

_Had this been the terrible tree’s plan all along? To trap him here and torture him with visions of his world and his own kind crumbling to dust?_

_ **Do you still feel the longing, you dark shard?** _

* * *

_UrGoh found himself once again in front of the desecrated map. It still felt empty, destroyed, and yet placing the locations—the Gelfling clans—back where they once belonged didn't seem to restore it. Uncertain, he placed them all back on top of the map._

_To his surprise, the torn corners of each piece seemed to fit together, though they had come from separate places. Curious, he arranged them in the way they now fit, each piece linking together._

_Strange... did the map seem more complete now than it did before?_

* * *

_Many things passed before skekGra’s vision as he crouched there, by the wall. He felt as though he had been turned to stone while the landscape around him changed and shifted endlessly, the sky revolving in circles. He thought, vaguely, that this must be how a mountain perceived the world, watching ninets pass like heartbeats and unable to do anything but observe._

_Time passed like the shadow of a flier flitting overhead, and around him, the world died._

_And he was at the forefront of it all, face streaked with blood that was not his own, directing hordes of Gelfling and the shadowy forms of other Skeksis to slaughter the skittering Arathim, cowering Gruenaks, lumbering Makraks… and when nothing but skeletons and empty shells littered the land they used to inhabit, he saw himself tilt his sword downward, and the Gelflings struck at the Podling villages. The Grottan caves. The Drenchen swamps._

But they were our allies_, he thought, bewildered, and to his surprise, almost horrified._

_And yet the army grew. SkekGra found his forces joined by creatures the likes of which he had never seen—hulking, soulless things with shells and glowing purple eyes, with enormous claws made for ripping. They knew no fear, no mercy. The perfect weapons._

_In the blink of an eye there were no Gelfling left but the Vapra. Then, with a nod and a smile from skekGra, the Skeksis descended on the silver-garmented creatures, their claws ripping skin from bones and wrenching wings from shoulder blades._

_Even the Emperor joined in the attack, beak split with harsh cackles. SkekGra turned his head away. _There _must _be a reason for this.

_He saw Mother Aughra, asleep underneath her ever-revolving mechanical Orrery, unaware of the tragedies, her soul free to wander the stars forever while her body gathered dust on a dying world._

_ **You know the only way to end this. You have always known, but no one dares to speak it.** _

* * *

_The shard that urGoh had taken from Aughra’s store was still held flat in his palm. As he watched, it spun wildly, so fast that he could not tell one end from the other—it had become one, a circle._

_It lifted from his hand until it hovered in front of his eyes, in front of the completed map, brighter than any of the stars around him. Brighter, it seemed, than the Crystal of Truth in its full glory._

_The light tickled faded memories at the back of his mind. He thought that he himself might have glowed like this, once. It was a light that would carry him home._

_And then the light began to burn._

* * *

_A thousand years had passed since the terrible split. And three suns came together, the third Great Conjunction skekGra had witnessed on this world._

_As the light shone bright, the other ones entered the castle of their own accord—the beady-eyed creatures, the urRu, shambling across the stone floor with heads lowered and tails dragging, nothing left to protect._

_The Crystal had called them here, but there was no triumph for them. It was skekGra himself who locked them away._

_He saw, one last time, his brethren gathered along the banquet table, laughing and shoving food into their beaks, their flesh dripping from their putrid faces like the skins of spoiled fruit. It was only when skekSil leaned back in his chair that skekGra saw what he hadn’t before—that sitting in his own place at the table was a shell of himself, gaping black holes where his eyes should be and his armor rusted and chipping away, his beak open and laughing with the others, rotting with them. He remembered urGoh the Wanderer, locked away forever beneath the ground in pitch darkness with the other Mystics._

_So this was how it would look. The great and powerful Skeksis, the immortal overlords of a dead world, with no one left to rule._

This can’t be the future.

_Slowly, agonizingly slowly, his double at the table raised its head and fixed skekGra with a stare, its empty sockets locked on his own eyes._

This is the _only_ future.

* * *

He jerked backward, heart throwing itself against his ribs like a relentless drum, thrumming an impossible two beats for what should be every one.

He felt raindrops pattering onto his face, and the slight breeze from the mechanical wonder whirling above him; raising his head, he saw the twisting tree trunk against weak sunlight, the same light that filtered through the crystal ceiling and reflected off the shining metal representations of the planets in orbit.

His eyes flicked downward, where he saw a crystal shard in his hand, as well as a puddle of dark, glistening blood pooled among the gnarled roots of an ancient tree. Two reflections gazed at him at once, one from the crystal and one from the blood on the ground.

_ **Do you now understand?** _

Two reflections, but one body. One mind.

“Never,” said one.

“I won’t,” said the other. “I can’t.”

_ **Then you’ve already seen your future.** _

With a final, desperate surge of strength, he at last tore himself away, and blinked his own eyes.

And then he crumbled, and the world fell into blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The dialogue from the Sanctuary Tree about the urSkeks is in reference to the Creation Myths volumes.
> 
> Also, an alternate chapter summary: "In which the Conqueror receives a charming visit from the Ghost of Great Conjunctions Yet to Come"


	5. Interlude: Unaware

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which perspectives shift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya folks! BabyCharmander here. This chapter took slightly longer than planned because December is a hectic month! But here we are.
> 
> Here's a different sort of chapter! While the story is mostly from skekGra and urGoh's perspective, we did occasionally want to delve into the perspectives of other characters, which is what we're doing here. Hope you guys like skekSil, skekVar, and Podlings. Enjoy!

_Report on Further Gelfling Division_

_Prepared excellently for His Most Royal Highness who Reigns Eternally, by skekSil the Chamberlain_

_As per my last report, my Emperor, those Skeksis living outside the Castle have found that Gelfling clans grow more and more distrustful of each other. Even here in the Castle itself, Stonewood and Spriton guards in particular now find it almost impossible to patrol together._

_This is excellent news, yes! The very proof that our efforts succeed! Mmmm… Though, of course, if hatred between Gelfling grows unchecked, so too do our own forces weaken. This problem must be dealt with swiftly._

_Word has come from skekNa, who suggests that_

There was a loud, echoing _click_, followed by a prolonged _creeeaaak_, and the massive library door pushed open.

“_There_ you are!” a crisp, nasally voice exclaimed, and skekOk swept into the room. “I’ve been searching half the castle for you!”

SkekSil, seated at the large desk in the middle of the room, dropped his quill into the inkwell and fanned his partially-written report with his hand. “Looking for me? Why?”

“A Gelfling wants to speak with you.” The Scroll-Keeper sounded rather cross. “A Stonewood guard. He says he has something important to share _only_ with you. And of course _I_ am sent running about the castle like a hapless Podling trying to find you—_Why_ are you skulking in my library _again?_”

“Ah, apologies, highest apologies, friend Scroll-Keeper!” skekSil simpered. “I will replace everything exactly where found. I am merely writing new report for Emperor—is so _hard_ to find quiet place in Castle to sit and write. You understand, yes? Other Skeksis are so loud and _obnoxious._ Care not for written word.”

SkekOk huffed, some of his irritation evaporating—or, at least, switching targets. “Yes, I have noticed. Did you know, skekVar once spat rotten tubers all over one of my newly-bound books! Took me weeks to remove the stains…”

“Yes, yes, is clear why so few are allowed in beautiful library—”

“—_Very _few, in fact. How do you keep getting in here?”

SkekSil cleared his throat quickly. “Where is Gelfling who sent for me?”

“Waiting in the empty guards’ quarters. He said he would not feel safe speaking elsewhere. _Awfully_ demanding, if you ask me.” SkekOk approached the desk and, to skekSil’s annoyance, bent to squint at his report. He clicked his beak. “And _why_ have you put ‘_mmmm_’ in _writing?_”

SkekSil stood abruptly, almost knocking the glasses off skekOk’s narrow beak. “Yes! I go, now, to speak with Gelfling. Goodbye.”

He rolled up his parchment and pushed it into his sleeve, then strode out of the library, leaving skekOk alone to mutter something about “illiterates.”

So… a Stonewood Gelfling acting secretive, he mused. _Hmmmmm_… A complaint about a nasty fight with a Spriton, perhaps, something that he could add to his report? Or something more interesting?

He quickened his step, shuffling his way across the castle until he reached the guards’ quarters that were always empty this time of day. At this point he slowed, and pushed his way through the door and into the room.

Immediately his mood soured as he smacked his head on the _extremely_ low ceiling. He scowled, rubbing the wound. _Spit-faced puny Gelfling runts…_

“Gelfling?” he called, forcing a sense of cordiality into his voice and removing his hand from his face, moving further into the room. It was wide, used as lodging for many guards, but with bunks stacked along the walls and floor so close together that it was difficult for him to edge between them. The room also appeared dark and empty. “Geeeelfling? You wish to speak to me?”

“Lord Chamberlain?” There was a rustle, a flurry of movement from somewhere to the right, and a nervous Stonewood Gelfling appeared from around one of the bunks, his pointed ears turned backwards. “My lord—thank you for taking the time to meet me—” the Gelfling fell into a hurried bow— “I’m not worthy—”

“Yes, yes, very true,” skekSil said, waving him off. “You say you have message for me? For Chamberlain’s ears only?”

The dark-skinned Gelfling blanched; his pupils constricted, showing more white around them, and his hands intertwined near his chest, fingers trembling. Something was clearly terrifying him, though whether it was from being in the presence of a Skeksis Lord (most likely not, as he was a guard at the Castle), or from the news he carried, skekSil couldn’t be sure. As the puny creature ventured closer, skekSil could see that he had partially-healed burns all down one side, which gave him a faltering step. Recent wounds, clearly, meaning he must have received them from the battle against the Gruenak savages. Unless he had perhaps had a _terribly_ nasty fight with a Spriton.

“My name is Hiral, my lord, of the Stonewood,” the Gelfling, apparently fond of pointing out the obvious, said. He was wringing his hands now. “You told us all to report any strange behavior to you. Well, I was in the Gruenak battle,” —as skekSil had suspected— ”but I was hurt too badly to continue fighting,” —again, obvious— ”...I got too close to one of the fires, you see, and one of those metal-manglers pushed me… My patrol partner Nuren brought me up the hillside away from the battle to recuperate, and when it was almost over, I… saw something.” The Gelfling hesitated, looking shaken.

“Go on,” skekSil prompted, taking care to inject his voice with a gentle, comforting note, as though he were a caring parent. “Tell Chamberlain everything. Gelfling is _safe_ here. Chamberlain gives word, Gelfling will _never_ be in trouble for spilling secrets of Gelfling.”

“But that’s just it, my lord,” Hiral said miserably. “This isn’t about a Gelfling.”

SkekSil stood up a bit straighter and fixed the Gelfling with a stare, his attention fully caught now. “Hmmmm?”

Suddenly the guard’s nervous manner made complete sense. He wasn’t racked with guilt and uncertainty over the misdeeds of a fellow Gelfling—he had witnessed something done by a Skeksis at the battle. But who? And what? Certainly, it could not have been something done against Gelfling, or Hiral would likely not have trusted the Skeksis enough any longer to come and tell skekSil about it, or allow himself to be alone with him.

With this thought, skekSil loosened his posture, softening his eyes and ducking his head the smallest degree, making himself look as harmless as possible.

“Not Gelfling?” he cooed. “Hiral is wise to bring this to Chamberlain. Who, then, does Gelfling speak of?”

A smile twitched at the corner of skekSil’s beak. If it was skekVar, that would be delightful—the cretin was far too interested in getting close to the Emperor for his liking…

The Gelfling looked skekSil in the eye, let out a long breath, and said, “It was the Conqueror, my lord—Lord skekGra. I… I think he’s a traitor.”

SkekSil’s thoughts switched track immediately.

_SkekGra?_ ...Though yes, he should have known… skekGra had been acting strangely since he’d returned from the Gruenak battle, most unlike himself indeed…

The Conqueror was not, and never had been, an obstacle to skekSil’s own plans. He had no political ambitions of his own—he seemed to be perfectly content exactly where he was. Perhaps a bit _too_ content. He could even have been useful, if he were more cooperative, but skekSil had the growing suspicion that skekGra didn’t much like him. Ah well.

“Lord Conqueror was chasing a few of the Gruenaks up the hill,” the Gelfling explained. “I saw him reach them, but then… he let them go without a fight. I don’t know why.”

That was it? SkekSil couldn’t help feeling a little disappointed. Still, he had never known the Conqueror to let an enemy live.

He shifted backwards, steepling his fingers. “And you have told no one else of this?”

“No one,” the Gelfling confirmed, and hesitated. “There’s… something else. It—it was hard to see in the rain. But some… _creature_ appeared.”

Hiral looked up at skekSil, uncertain, and skekSil inclined his head slightly.

“It looked hunched over,” the Gelfling continued. “And it almost looked like it had four arms. It made me think of those stories you hear, about creatures that appear in the dead of night—four-armed wizards that steal Gelfling souls, and even the Hunter…” His voice wavered, and he seemed unable to continue.

SkekSil turned his head a fraction so that Hiral would not see the hint of a smirk on his face, though he could not keep his eyes from widening. “..._Mmmm_… Thank you, Gelfling,” he said. “Is best if Hiral does not concern self with this any longer, and leave Chamberlain to deal with matter. Now, is there anything else, hmmm?”

“No. That’s all. And trust me, I won’t tell anyone else about this...” The Gelfling sat down on the nearest bed, looking pained—his burns were clearly bothering him. He peered back up at skekSil with a hopeful light in his eyes, his ears lifting. “But my lord, what you said about- about bringing information to you—and the reward?”

SkekSil casually waved a hand. “_Yes_, of course. Gelfling will receive full day’s extra wages.”

“Sent to my family, please, my lord,” Hiral said quickly. “At Stone-in-the-Wood. My two daughters, they’re barely out of babyhood, twins… My brother’s been looking after them, and we don’t have much—”

SkekSil’s eyes narrowed slightly. SkekOk had had a point earlier—this Gelfling _was_ entirely too demanding of his lords. “Of _course_, Gelfling. Of course.”

He turned swiftly and took his leave before the presumptuous guard could ask for anything else, exiting the barracks and heading toward his own chambers with a hum emanating from his throat and his mind whirling with this new information.

Yes… he eagerly awaited the return of the famed Conqueror.

* * *

Take your father's job and watch over the observatory, they said. It would be an easy job, they said.

But they didn't say _anything _about enormous monsters barging in, sneezing everywhere, and then falling asleep standing up! This had _not _been part of the job description!

"UrGoh! Ah! _UrGoh_!"

Throwing herself against his side for the fourth time, Fedle found the strange creature had once again failed to budge. She'd shouted at him, jabbed him with a finger, and even pinched his one of his weird wrinkly hands at once point, but nothing happened. What was she supposed to _do _with this great thing?! What happened to him?

Fedle stole a glance at Mother Aughra, who still lay softly snoring beneath the Orrery, and felt a tightness in her chest. Aughra had been there for many trine... how long had it been now? A decade or more since she'd last awoken?

She looked from Aughra to urGoh, a sudden worry gripping her: had urGoh fallen asleep as Mother Aughra had? Would _he, _too, be asleep for a decade or more? It was hard enough having to watch over Aughra, but this enormous beast? She couldn't even reach the top of his shoulder! How would she dust him?

But... no. Aughra was very clearly asleep, her eyes shut, while this beast's eyes were wide open, yet unseeing. She moved to his front, hopping up and down in front of him and waving, but again he failed to respond. Perhaps something had gone wrong with his eyes... if she could bring a stool up to him, she could get a closer look.

Grumbling to herself, Fedle grabbed a stool that sat near a tower of books and pushed it over to the front of the great creature, crawling on top of it to get a better look at his eyes. Perhaps something bright from the Orrery had shone into them and made his vision go funny? That had happened to her once, when a beam of light from the Great Sun hit the metal of the Orrery _just _as she happened to glance at it, and she couldn't see right for a good few minutes. If she could just block his view...

To her surprise and delight, it seemed to work—urGoh's eyes flicked downward to face the spinning crystal in his palm. Fedle hummed in approval, and was about to address him again when she saw... _something_.

Something wasn't right about his eyes, his face. It wasn't the unseeing look he'd had before—it was something darker, stranger, as though she were looking into the eyes of another creature entirely...

And without any warning, he collapsed.

Fedle _yelped_ as his head knocked against her stool, sending the seat crashing backward and her along with it. Groaning, she pushed herself upright, and frowned at the massive beast. Well, if he hadn't been asleep _before_, he was _now. _But unlike the easy sleep Mother Aughra was in, urGoh seemed to have fallen into a troubled rest, his creased brows furrowing the already-deep wrinkles in his face. She hoped it meant that he wouldn't be asleep for an age.

As she got back to her feet, she looked over the creature's face again, but any sign of that... _strangeness _she'd seen earlier was completely absent. No, he was merely asleep, and seemingly having unpleasant dreams.

Well, whatever had happened... she was going to see to it that Mother Aughra paid her family _extra _for this mess.

* * *

With a final cry and a satisfying _squelch _of green blood, the last Arathim was dead.

SkekVar regarded his work with a contented snort. The dark Grottan caves, typically lit with a soft blue glow from the moss, now had a greenish hue to them from the sheer amount of Spitter blood that coated their stony floors. It was a rewarding sight—a sure sign of victory.

No thanks to a certain obsessive, foul-faced _idiot_ who was supposed to be _leading _this entire campaign. He’d been absent almost the entire time!

Which... wasn't like him at all.

With a sigh, skekVar glanced in the direction of the tunnels he'd come through. In previous campaigns, he had never praised skekGra’s prowess in battle—not without a grumble of spite or a bite of sarcasm to his words, anyway. In truth, skekGra was never anything other than a competent leader in military conquest. It was the reason he was the _Conqueror_, after all. (In fact, skekVar had even stolen a few techniques from him—while calling them his own, of course—when leading military campaigns without the Conqueror.) Every battle skekGra led was a victory; every pathetic race he'd determined to stamp out had crumbled, with him at the helm.

So what had happened _this _time? The Conqueror had drawn up the initial attack plans, yes, but after that... he'd run off to chase down a few puny Spitters, and then disappeared. It was lucky for the Conqueror that they had won. If they had lost due to his absence, the Emperor would have flayed him with his own claws.

"Lord skekVar," one Gelfling said, and he turned to face her. It was too dark in these tunnels to make out exactly which clan she was, not that it mattered—these things all looked the same to him. "The Arathim seem to have been vanquished, but we have several wounded that need to be treated immediately."

SkekVar snorted. "Fine, do as you will." His blood-soaked claws itched to be scrubbed in the spa at the Castle, but he supposed skekSo and skekUng would be displeased if more Gelfling soldiers were lost than necessary. Numbers were important, after all—they were part of what helped the Skeksis win victories... alongside competent strategies. Speaking of which...

With another grunt, he turned back to the tunnels again, and raised his voice. "I need any able soldiers to follow me immediately," he said, and trudged back in that direction. Several soldiers fell into step behind him as he fished through his pockets, producing the crumpled map that skekGra had shown him earlier. It was hard to see in the dark, but he was pretty sure they were going the right way. If not... he could probably find the Conqueror by smell alone.

"If I may ask," one Gelfling said, "where are we going, my lord?"

"To find Lord skekGra." Part of him wanted to say something about the Conqueror's absence, but, tempting as it was, he kept his beak shut; speaking against the other Skeksis in front of these things might make the weaklings question their loyalty. The Gelfling knew nothing about the Skeksis punishment rituals, and never heard any negative talk of their lords. As far as they knew, the Skeksis were perfect, unerring Lords of the Crystal, as it should be.

Even so, he heard the soldiers behind him whispering in confusion. "I noticed he wasn't with us in the battle," one said.

"He saved Bayl from a Spitter! I saw it."

"But how come I didn't see him when we got here?"

"_Silence_!" skekVar spat, and the Gelfling all came to a stop at a fork in the tunnels. "I need to concentrate."

In truth, his sense of smell wasn't exactly hindered by their speech; he just found it grating.

Stretching his neck forward, skekVar drew in a deep, long _snort_, taking in the scents of the cave to figure out which direction they should go. He registered damp dirt, putrid Arathim blood, the muddled traces of various Gelfling clans, clay, and...

SkekVar froze.

He'd attended more than enough punishment rituals to recognize the sharp, pungent tang of fresh Skeksis blood. The scent was unmistakable.

His gaze drifted to the ground, where he could just make out dark splotches among the rocks and dirt, making a trail further into the tunnel. Vaguely he remembered smelling blood when he’d first come across skekGra in these tunnels, but the other Skeksis had seemed fine despite any wounds he might have borne.

Yet there was blood puddled on the ground, and skekGra had not returned.

“This way,” skekVar grunted to the Gelfling soldiers. He stomped down the path, his scowl fixed firmly on his face in defiance of his racing thoughts, which were beginning to border traitorously on panic.

Surely the _Conqueror_ could not have succumbed to a few measly spiders. The Arathim had few battle techniques other than “screech and try to bite things,” and most of all, they were stupid. The Skeksis had nothing to fear from them except their sheer numbers.

So unless… skekGra had been _overrun_…

SkekVar quickened his pace, though snapped his beak irritably when he found that the tunnel became too narrow to walk upright, forcing him to awkwardly crawl through the dirt hunched over on his knees like a Gelfling infant.

The Gelflings behind him murmured their dissent as they followed.

“This tunnel gives me the creeps.”

“Is this really the right way? Why in Thra would Lord skekGra come down here?”

“I want to turn back. This isn’t worth it!”

_No, it _isn’t_, _skekVar silently agreed, though the fact that the Gelflings’ worries echoed his own was humiliating. How badly injured _was_ skekGra, anyway?

_Wounded enough that he couldn’t come back…_

He didn’t know how long he crawled through the dark and the cold, how deep under the surface he was and how he would ever find his way out of here again.

“I think the tunnel is widening!” one of the Gelflings behind him said suddenly. SkekVar sniffed the air again, drawing his lips back in surprise. The air seemed fresher here, and he thought he could even see light up ahead. Where were they?

"Wait," one of the Gelflings breathed as they approached the light, "is this not...?"

"Yes! The Grottan have a Tree of their own, don't they?"

_Tree?_ SkekVar shook his head. What in blazes were they talking about? What sort of tree grew...

The tunnel suddenly widened into a massive cavern, twined with roots snaking in all directions. SkekVar heaved himself up properly onto his feet again, staring up at the enormous, twisted tree trunk towering above his group. Well... that answered _that _question. Around him, the Gelfling let out exclamations of wonder.

"Wow, it _is _the—"

"_Lord skekGra!_" A shriek broke through the awed atmosphere, jolting everyone out of their reveries.

Shaking himself, skekVar tore his gaze from the tree to survey the area, and felt a freezing talon close over his heart.

There, lying in a heap on the ground, surrounded by pools of shining blood, was the Conqueror.

“Oh _Thra_…”

“I’ve never…”

"The Lord Conqueror! He's—" One of the Gelfling swallowed. "He's not _dead, _is he, Lord skekVar?"

"Of course not!" skekVar snapped, glaring down at the soldier, who cringed away. _We cannot die._

_...Can we?_

He slowly forced himself to approach the other Skeksis' still form, scanning him for any signs of life, though truthfully he didn’t have a clue what to look for. SkekGra’s eyes were tightly closed, his robes torn and his helmet lying several feet away, the decorative ruff around his neck hanging raggedly by a few threads and revealing ugly purple bruises around his throat. Some unpleasant emotion that skekVar refused to identify stirred within him as he stared down at the lifeless body, his own going very still.

_We are eternal_.

"Ugh! What is _that_?"

Jerking up his head at the Gelfling's cry, skekVar was surprised to see that skekGra hadn't been alone here in the cavern. Lying a short distance from him was a much smaller figure, this one drenched in dark blood. Something about the smell of it was familiar to him—along with the metallic tang of blood was a clay-like scent, which was like... like...

"_Gruenak_?" skekVar murmured, leaning closer to it, but he did not step away from skekGra's body. "What's a Gruenak doing out here?"

Tipping his head, he glanced at skekGra once again, and the memory of a chance meeting in a lightless tunnel hit him in a flash.

_I saw a group of three cowardly survivors fleeing down this way._

It hadn’t struck him until now that skekGra had never specified that his quarry were not Arathim. He must have been in enough of a hurry to assume skekVar would know what he was talking about. But... how could these creatures have survived? Had they not perished in that last battle a few days ago? The Podlings were still washing Gruenak bloodstains out of his other outfit!

"Could that scum have hurt Lord Conqueror?" one of the Gelfling suggested, staring in open disgust at the Gruenak corpse, and skekVar let out a hiss.

"The Conqueror should tell us _himself_," he grunted, and finally stooped down to shake the fellow Skeksis' shoulder. "SkekGra, get up! The battle is over! _SkekGra_!"

Behind him the Gelfling were muttering again, their voices pitched in anxiety. "Could Lord skekGra really be...?"

"But the Lords can't die, can they?"

"What if he doesn't wake up?"

"_Quiet_!" skekVar snarled, turning to glare at them. He pointed to the one of highest rank. "You, captain! Get out to Domrak, or the Tomb of Relics, or wherever the blasted Grottan are right now, and find a healer!"

"Yes, my lord!" the captain said, and charged back down the tunnel.

"Be quick about it!" skekVar shouted after him, and turned his gaze back to the fallen Skeksis. He tried shaking his shoulder again, and hissed when the Conqueror gave no response. "Conqueror, if you don't get up, I'm... I'm going to give your helpings of dinner to the Gourmand. He'll gladly take them!"

The other Gelfling soldiers were at either side of him now, staring down at skekGra's form silently. He could smell the terror on them, and it made his hackles rise. "Stop moping around!" He waved them away with all four of his arms, lashing his tail. "The Conqueror will be _fine_."

And yet, unwittingly, he pictured his lone return to the Castle, bearing two ceremonial staffs, with news of a sweeping victory for the Grottans but a staggering loss for the Skeksis…

Shaking the image from his mind, he glared at one of the soldiers. "Make yourself useful and see what else you can find here!"

While the remaining soldiers began a search of the area, skekVar stooped closer to skekGra, trying to listen for signs of... anything. He wished the Scientist were here. Vital signs and health fell under his area of expertise, more or less, so he should know, right? Either way, skekVar did _not _know, so he hummed in thought, wondering what else he could possibly bribe skekGra with to wake him up.

Slapping his tail against the ground, skekVar leaned in close again. "If you don't get up right now," he said, "then... when I get back to the castle, I'll go to your room, and—no, no, I'll have the _Chamberlain _go to your room, and have him do what _he _will with all those nasty puppets of yours. I'm sure he'd make good use out of them!"

He was almost certain he saw the Conqueror's face twitch, and he snorted in satisfaction. Even so, the other Skeksis did not wake up.

One of the Gelflings made a repulsed noise, and skekVar looked up, but it seemed the soldier had only found the severed head of the fallen Gruenak. In the dark, and in the midst of his... well, in the midst of fuming over skekGra, he hadn't even noticed the corpse had been missing a head. But they found nothing more, and skekVar resumed his watch.

"Hey, keep up, will ya? These tunnels aren't _that _hard to get through!"

SkekVar perked up at the new voice and turned toward the tunnels. A very young female Grottan zipped through the tunnel they'd come out of and landed neatly on one of the roots of the massive tree to survey the situation, a satchel swinging from her shoulder. "What seems to be the problem here?" she asked, as though it weren't obvious.

"Are you the healer?" skekVar asked, straightening his spine.

The girl brushed some dirt off of her outfit. "No, the healers are busy tending to the other Gelfling, so my mother sent me here."

Growling, skekVar eyed her—she wasn't even full grown. What in the name of the Crystal were these Grottan doing sending—

"Princess Argot," the captain gasped as he climbed out through the tunnel after her. "You must _bow_ before the Lords. And I've been... trying to tell you..."

“Oh! I forgot!” the girl interrupted, and fell into a clumsy bow. “I’m Princess Argot, like he said. You’re the first Skeksis I ever seen, my lord.”

_Princess_, huh? What was that supposed to mean, again? It was always skekZok and skekSil who understood the Gelfling politics. The rest of them never bothered with it. SkekVar shook his head—whatever, it was a title, so she was _someone _of importance, though the mere thought of speaking to this childling like an equal made his skin crawl.

"It's Lord skekGra, Princess," skekVar said, gesturing to the unmoving Skeksis on the ground. "We believe he was attacked by a stray Gruenak."

"Hm, never heard of a Gruenak bef..." The girl trailed off as her eyes fell upon the Gruenak’s corpse. Immediately her demeanor changed, and she rushed up to it, placing her hand on its back. "Oh... oh no..."

Argot looked back up at skekVar, suddenly appearing every bit her young age with her wide, worried, coal-black eyes, and her ears turned back over scraggly blond-ish hair. “What happened here, my lord? These creatures were under my mother’s protection…”

Around them, the congregated Gelflings let out gasps, glancing quickly at each other. Some of them noticeably tightened their grip on their weapons.

SkekVar let out a puff of air through his nostrils, letting his beak open slightly in the beginnings of a snarl. “And who’s your mother, then, the _Maudra?_”

The Gelfling child’s eyes hardened slightly, though she still looked shaken. “Well, _yes_, my lord. They don’t call me princess for my shiny hair!”

“Hmph.” SkekVar bristled at the green-skinned runt’s snotty attitude, but decided that the matter at hand was pressing enough to let it slide. “Then the Grottan Maudra rescued enemies of the Crystal and placed them under her protection?”

Argot stood, her wings rustling and green skin going pale, casting fearful glances at the hostile glares of the other Gelfling. “Enemies? What do you mean?”

“We fought a battle against them two days ago!” skekVar growled. He struggled to remember the paltry explanation the Chamberlain had given to other nosy Gelfling asking the same question. “Those Gruenak savages stand against the Crystal of Truth and spit in the faces of the Skeksis Lords!”

“I didn’t know!” Argot gasped, scrambling away from the body. “Mother didn’t know! We didn’t know! Please, my lord, don’t punish us for this—”

SkekVar narrowed his eyes to dangerous slits. “Attend to Lord skekGra,” he said, “and we’ll see.”

The Gelfling princess immediately hurried to skekGra’s still form and knelt beside him, leaning close. SkekVar craned his neck slightly in an attempt to see what she was doing, but her back was to him.

“That poor girl is too young to see all this,” one of the Gelfling soldiers murmured behind him.

“Do you think they really didn’t know about the Gruenaks?” another on whispered to his friend, who shrugged.

“Who knows? The dirt-dwellers don’t care about anything on the surface. And they’re idiots. I bet this childling doesn’t even know the first thing about—”

“This Lord is alive!” Argot announced, and skekVar almost drooped with relief. The Gelfling under his command seemed to let out their own breaths, some even smiling at each other.

But skekVar’s relief dissipated almost at once. “Then why is he _unconscious?_”

“That, I don’t know.” The princess stood and paced around skekGra, striding with ease over the uneven roots strewn through the dirt, and rifled through her satchel. “He has burned and bleeding hands, a bitten shoulder—Spitter bite, of course—and bruises on his neck. We have healing salves for those things, but I think you’ll just have to wait for him to wake up on his own. And then he can tell you himself.”

“And won’t we be glad to hear it,” skekVar grunted, shooting a look of poison down at the Conqueror—though with this stunt, he may not be _the Conqueror_ much longer. He waited with mounting impatience while the Gelfling girl cleaned and tended to skekGra’s piddly wounds and lifted his head to drip water down his throat; he muttered commands to his nearest soldiers for someone to mount their swiftest Landstrider and head for the castle at once with news.

At last Argot stood and crossed lightly back to skekVar, bowing low. “I think that’s all I can do for him, my lord. I don’t think he’s in any danger, but you should get him back to the Castle of the Crystal to have your own healers tend to him.”

SkekVar grunted. The castle didn’t have full-time healers, unless you counted the Scientist, but sure.

“My mother and I, as well as our clan, owe you our lives. We thank you for coming to our aid.” These words sounded practiced. Argot continued on, glancing back at skekGra. “And um… As for lifting him into a carriage… Maybe I can ask urLii for help?”

“Early _when?_” skekVar barked. “I’m getting him out of this place _now_. Just have to get him to the blasted surface.”

“Oh, that’s the easy part.” Before skekVar could say another word, the princess ran to the trunk of the enormous tree and pressed her hand to it, closing her eyes. After a long moment of nothing happening she blinked her eyes open again, looking at skekVar in surprise. “My lord, is there something special about this Lord?”

SkekVar snorted, tempted to say “absolutely not,” but decided against it. “The Twice-Nine are all extraordinary. Now, get us to the surface.”

But it was already happening. Tree branches reached down, wood creaking loudly, to none-too-gently wrap around both skekGra and, to skekVar’s simultaneous surprise and horror, himself, lifting them swiftly toward the sky.

He struggled against the restraints, but they did not slacken, and he looked down toward the cavern floor in alarm. The princess was still there, waving at him... rather absently, it seemed, for her gaze was trained on skekGra's unconscious form. Was she still worried about him, even after she'd said he would be fine? SkekVar glanced back at the Conqueror, only to give a start—he finally seemed to be stirring.

Before he could think on this much longer, the tree finally lifted them out of... _itself_, it seemed, before planting them a bit too firmly on the damp ground outside. At least the rain had stopped.

To skekVar's side, skekGra was beginning to murmur incoherently, eyelids fluttering open but not really seeing. With a frustrated grunt, skekVar stooped down to lift him up underneath his good arm. His armor made him heavy, but it was nothing skekVar couldn't handle. "Wake up, idiot," he growled. "We're heading back to the carriage."

"No... no... I can't... no..."

"You can walk _just _fine. You don't have anything wrong with your feet!" Snorting, he yanked the Conqueror forward, and the other Skeksis' legs seemed to obey automatically, though skekGra did not seem fully conscious. SkekVar shook his head and looked around them: they were atop a tall hill with that massive tree, and he could spot the carriage some distance off. It wouldn't be such a problem if he weren't half-carrying skekGra as it was, and he had to resist the urge to just chuck him down the hill. But the Emperor likely wouldn't approve of that, so he begrudgingly began the ridiculous task of helping the Conqueror down to the carriage.

"Have to... have to..." skekGra murmured, his eyes starting to drift shut again.

"Did you drink a gallon of ale with that blasted Gruenak before you beheaded it? Ugh."

It took a great deal longer than it should have, but skekVar finally managed to get skekGra over to the carriage. By the time they reached it, the Gelflings were already approaching, some of them rushing up to the two of them in concern.

"Lord skekVar! Is Lord skekGra all right?"

"We heard he was gravely injured!"

"Lord skekGra is _fine_," skekVar said, finally hoisting the half-conscious Skeksis up and shoving him onto the floor of the carriage. SkekGra groaned, but made no other protest, and the Gelfling soldiers did not dare argue. "I'll be taking him back to the castle immediately, unless he has any better ideas."

The two ceremonial staffs they’d brought fell on top of him, but he was out of sight of the Gelfling soldiers, and skekVar didn’t care enough to remove them. They’d brought those staffs for their victory celebration, but it was clear that no one was in any mood for celebrating.

SkekGra’s hands twitched. "H... have to... m-make... have to..."

Make _what_? skekVar wondered, only to smack his hand against his beak. Of course, he would want to make a _puppet show _of this, wouldn't he? If skekVar hauled him back to the castle without some souvenirs, he'd probably never hear the end of it. Snorting, skekVar turned toward a few Gelfling toward the back of the group—three of them that had just arrived. "You there! Get back into the tunnels and bring some Arathim pieces with you. Hack off some legs or something. We'll... um, be needing them. For important matters."

The three Gelfling exchanged exhausted glances, but obediently turned around, heading back toward the caves.

That settled, skekVar clambered up into the carriage and settled in his seat, looking back out over his soldiers. "To the Castle!" he said, and pulled the lever.

The armaligs jolted awake and began rolling forward, finally taking them away from what was feeling like a strangely bitter-tasting victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding Argot... Fun fact: Grottan live three to four times longer than other Gelfling.


	6. A Shaft of Air and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Conqueror must choose both his words and whom he speaks them to wisely, and the Wanderer must look for direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, Jaywings here. As always, a huge thank you to everyone reading this and leaving feedback, we absolutely love reading the comments! Hope you enjoy this one.
> 
> Thank you to ThePrairieNerd for beta-reading!

_Skeksis don't dream._

_We do not have visions._

The words came to skekGra before he perceived anything else. A throbbing shoulder, stinging talons, the reek of blood, a pounding headache, and something sharp digging into his side—those all came quickly afterwards. He also noticed that he was moving jerkily.

Struggling back to consciousness, he forced open his eyes and found himself peering blearily at the too-bright floor of a Skeksis carriage, as well as someone's foot.

"_Ech!_" skekGra jerked away, jabbing himself on yet another sharp instrument. With a hiss he reached for the offending object and found that he'd backed into the end of one of two ceremonial staffs that were laying on top of him; he shoved them both away. Such quick movements sent the world spinning, his stomach roiling in conjunction with the sickening pain in his head. "Where am I?!"

"Where do you _think?_" someone—skekVar, he realized dimly—grunted. "You're lucky I bothered to drag you in here."

SkekGra squeezed his eyes closed again, pressing his hand to the bony ridge between his brows and letting out a breath through his teeth. The pain put him in mind of some of the worst hangovers he'd ever had. With an effort he pushed himself into more of a sitting position, favoring his injured shoulder, and groaned, "What happened?"

"That's what you're going to tell _me_." SkekVar suddenly leaned forward, grabbed the front of skekGra's robes in both hands, and heaved him into the unoccupied carriage seat. SkekGra braced himself against the wall of the carriage and sucked in a breath, trying not to retch. He raised his head slightly, his gaze searching for skekVar's face to lock onto.

When he found it, his entire body went numb.

The General didn't _have_ a face.

It had caved inwards like broken pottery, crumbling into his lap; white smoke billowed from his ruined eye sockets and ear holes. As skekGra watched, skekVar's lower jaw snapped off and fell to the floor.

"What?" skekVar snapped.

SkekGra's eyes refocused to find that the General had returned to normal—or, rather, he had never changed. SkekGra wondered if he'd been gaping.

"...Nothing," he said uneasily. "Do you... have any water?"

Scowling, skekVar handed over a waterskin, which skekGra upended into his beak and slurped at greedily. He kept his eye on skekVar. The General did not shift in appearance again, but skekGra could still _see_ it...

"I've sent a messenger ahead to the castle," skekVar said. "They'll be expecting us back before the first Sister rises. And I'm sure the Emperor will want a full report from _you_."

SkekGra pressed a little too hard on the skin, accidentally slopping water over his face. Blinking rapidly, he scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve. "Oh. Yes, of course!" He coughed, then cleared his throat. "I... had been intending to head straight to the Emperor."

"Going to give him his own private puppet show?" skekVar grunted. Before skekGra could answer, he went on, "I had the Gelfling fetch some Arathim parts for you, so you don't have to whine about that."

"What? I wasn't going to!" SkekGra found himself strangely affronted. Who did he look like, the Ornamentalist?

"Yeah, sure."

A low growl rattled at the back of skekGra's throat. And who exactly was the one who had been whining about the weather since they had set out?

Shoving the thought away, he brushed aside the curtains on the carriage window and gazed out, watching the world rapidly pass by. For a moment he thought he saw the trees around them rotting, veined with bright purple, but he blinked and the vision was gone. What was _wrong _with him?

He reflected on skekVar's uncharacteristic offer. Normally, he would be _thrilled_ at the prospect of making puppets and starting a new show, or perhaps even painting with the green Arathim blood. But when he looked down at his clothing, where he could still see the green stains, he felt ill. A side-effect from passing out and from this dreadful carriage ride, surely. And...

"So?" SkekVar's voice broke through his thoughts. "Are you going to tell me or not?"

Forcing himself to look back at the General (and fervently hoping he wouldn't find another hellish sight in his place), he wondered for a moment what the other Skeksis was talking about before his mind sluggishly clicked into place. _Oh_. How was he supposed to explain _that_?

"It's... a long story."

SkekVar, disgruntled, leaned back. "What, can you not give a report without your blasted—"

"It's not about the puppets!" skekGra snapped, slapping his tail against the side of his seat. Some of the remaining armor on his tail caught on the leather; he turned, impatiently tugging it free and straightening his tail out again. He stared down at it for a long while, then shut and massaged his eyes, trying to will away his pounding headache. "My report," he began, "is for the Emperor's ears only."

"_What_?!" skekVar cried, throwing out his claws. "I haul your rotting tail out of the Caves of Grot and you won't even tell me what happened?!"

The word _rotting _brought back memories of his vision, which made his stomach churn. "For _now_," he said. "For _now_, I'll only be telling skekSo first. You'll hear of it later, I'm sure." After a pause, he added, "Anyway, if _you _got the report before the Chamberlain did, you know he'd never let either of us hear the end of it."

At that, skekVar grumbled in agreement, settling back into his seat.

Hopefully that would be the end of it, then. SkekGra shut his eyes and bowed his head, trying to make himself as comfortable as possible, but the rough path through the forest made it a difficult task. It didn't help that his mind kept drifting to terrible, haunting images—ones that begged to be relived clearly, but the vaguest memory of them made his heart pound, his innards twist. Gritting his teeth, he tried to push them aside; he could dwell on them later, and he would think on them well enough when he talked to the Emperor.

"I had _thought _we'd got them all."

SkekGra lifted his head again, meeting skekVar's narrowed gaze, and wondered what he was on about _now_. But the words cycled through his head again, and his blood went cold.

They must have found him lying by the tree, where he'd passed out, and sprawled near him would have been the… dead...

"So did I," he lied quickly, straightening in his seat, and returning skekVar's hardened look with one of his own. "_I _thought we'd vanquished every last one of the Gruenaks, General."

SkekVar blinked, then his eyes widened. "Well… _someone_ failed on that front."

"_Hnh_. So it would seem." SkekGra shifted slightly, keeping his face carefully composed. Inwardly, however, he cringed. Ugh, was he turning into skekSil? SkekGra hated the idea of playing mind games with the General. They were supposed to work _together_, not against each other. He considered the idea of placing the blame on skekUng, who wasn't here to defend himself, but that felt too slimy as well. "Regardless of whose fault it was," he said instead, "I was striving to _fix _it."

"Yet I found you collapsed in that chamber," skekVar retorted, "not fixing a blasted thing. How do you slay dozens of those creatures, only to fall to _one_?"

Now skekGra bit his tongue, trying to decide how best to approach the situation—but his skull was still under assault from this terrible ache, and he was getting tired again. "A lot happened," he said simply, "and skekSo will hear of it first."

Again skekVar eyed him before giving an ugly _snort_. "_Fine_," he barked, and jerked his head toward the window.

SkekGra turned his attention to the opposite window, swallowing hard. This was off to a bad start. He had not meant to make an enemy of skekVar, but how much more of a mess would he get himself into by describing his horrific visions to any other Skeksis before skekSo himself? SkekVar would never understand it, anyway. He was likely to come to entirely the wrong conclusion. SkekGra exhaled wearily. Perhaps he could find a way to make up for all this later.

In the meantime, the carriage rolled on in silence, bringing them ever closer to the Castle of the Crystal.

* * *

A terrible ringing noise filled urGoh's mind, cutting through the thick blackness of unconsciousness, growing louder and louder until it was nearly a _shriek_.

Finally he opened his eyes and the screech stopped, but even the dim light from above nearly blinded him, forcing him to blink painfully.

His eyes weren't the only things that hurt, he soon realized. His jaw, currently lying flat against the ground, was sore, and his head was pounding. His throat ached with every breath he took. Various other parts of him were also in pain—his shoulder and his hands—but those were older wounds, more familiar, and they did not hurt as badly as they once had.

In spite of the pain in his throat, he drew in a deep breath, and worked at pushing himself up off the floor.

"Ah! _AH_!" cried a nearby voice, and he lifted his head in time to see a Podling scurrying up to meet him. "Awake!"

He nodded slowly, gritting his teeth as he fought to lift his body. The Podling—Fedle, that was her name—was at his side, her hands beneath one of his elbows as she strained to lift him. It did nothing to help, of course, but he appreciated the gesture, and finally managed to sit back on his heels. "My... apologies," he said. "I must have... dozed off."

He was still in the Orrery. Judging by the scant light filtering through the fogged glass ceiling, it was reaching nightfall, though he could not see the sky. So why did he have images of stars and crystals in his head?

Fedle's face wrinkled in a frown, and she began speaking quickly, gesturing widely to Mother Aughra, and the Orrery, and urGoh himself, then to something on the floor. He only caught a handful of words—"worried," "passed out," "forever," and "strange," but he got the message as he followed her pointing to the different things in the room. Aughra was still asleep, the Orrery was still spinning, and... the crystal shard was trembling on the ground.

Stooping down, urGoh picked up the shard again, feeling the slight tremor of it between his fingers, as though it were full of energy. Could it be trying to tell him something? Had it been the shard that knocked him out? Did it have, perhaps, another vision for him sealed somewhere within its tiny facets?

_Another_ vision...

The memories came back to him, bits and pieces of them like the gentle tide at the shoreline before the entirety of it crashed over him like a wave. The suns, the map, the Gelfling clans, the _Crystal_... It was so much to take in, but on top of that, there was... there was...

He suddenly realized Fedle had stopped talking, and he looked back down at her. She was frowning up at him, her eyes narrowed, unable to fully hide her concern. "I am... truly sorry," he said to her. "I did not... mean... to cause you... distress."

With a heavy sigh, Fedle looked down and mumbled something about worry coming with the job description. Her gaze turned back to Aughra, and urGoh followed it.

"She must be learning... a great many things," he said, and the Podling hummed in agreement. Exploring the vast universe... he wondered if he envied her. But she also knew a great deal about Thra, as well as about the Crystal of Truth itself. She _was _Thra. "I wonder... if I should ask..."

Fedle saw him taking a step closer toward where Aughra slept, and immediately ran in front of him. "Nuh-uh! No! Aughra no, uh... wake!"

No… of course she wouldn't wake, and it would not be right of him to try to rouse her. He would hate to be dragged away from his own wanderings, and he would not wish that upon Aughra. But he yearned to talk to _someone _about the strange visions he saw... and what he'd heard.

Some of it had been quite obvious—the Crystal was in pain, as it was not whole. But the rest...

_When single shines the triple sun…_

He recalled as if from a hazy dream a _light_, brighter than anything he'd ever seen. A light that carried him here, and would take him home, but had instead torn him in two...

UrGoh _needed_ to talk to someone. He looked at Fedle, who had gone back to whatever task she'd been preoccupied with before he'd awoken. Which was... apparently trying to piece together the feather duster he'd accidentally destroyed. He watched as she grouped the feathers together, binding them with string and glue back to the handle they'd originally been attached to. She seemed pleased with her effort, and set the duster on a table to let the glue dry.

Hm. She meant well, but a simple Podling would not understand these things. He supposed he could head back to the Valley, but it was a great distance off, and he'd _run _to get here. He'd been in such a hurry, because...

_Oh._

The blood.

He saw it clearly, now, as if he were immersed once more in the vision—dark, _dark_ blood puddled around tree roots in the Grottan caves. That had not been in his own mind, like the rest. He had physically _seen_ it. He had been looking through his dark half's eyes again.

And he had seen _blood_.

"I am… too late," he breathed. "Too late… to save them."

"UrGoh?" Fedle's small voice said.

UrGoh could barely summon the resolve to cast her an acknowledging glance. A numbness spread over his entire body, like he had been submerged in an icy river.

He had failed. All he had done to save them, help them, and in the end the three of them had still fallen like the rest of their kind, though so far from their home, so far from their own people…

The Conqueror had gotten his victory after all.

Abruptly he turned and shuffled back through the observatory doorway, passing blindly into the darkness beyond.

"UrGoh!" the little Podling cried behind him, her frame illuminated in the doorway.

"Goodbye… Caretaker Fedle," he said, sparing her one last glance. His eyes seemed to swim. "Thank you… for your help." He continued walking, and in moments both the light and the Podling vanished.

_What now?_ he wondered, as he reached the end of the tunnel and saw, in the dim, cloud-choked light of the setting suns, vines dangling over the exit once again. With what felt like the last of his strength he hummed a deep note, and the vines lifted to let him pass.

He made his way onto the ledge outside the tunnel and stood, gazing off to the horizon in the direction of the hidden valley that most Mystics called home.

A strange hopelessness billowed in him, like a drop of ink in water, weighing down his limbs. He could feel the twitching movements of the shard still clenched in his palm. What now, indeed?

He had always been sure-footed in his wanderings, intent on only the journey and never the end. But now, with his destination ripped from his hands so fiercely, for the first time in his life he felt… _lost_.

* * *

The suns were setting, though their light was blocked by the dense, overcast sky. While they did not bathe Thra in red light, the darkness that came with their descent was no less foreboding.

SkekGra's thoughts raced as the carriage pulled up to the castle. Since his companion had gone quiet, he'd spent the rest of the journey picking apart the images in his head and mulling over what exactly he was going to tell skekSo. What he had learned in the vision, if it was to be trusted, was highly important, but how would he explain it to the Emperor without making it sound like he—and the Skeksis in general—were in the wrong? For surely they were _not _in the wrong. They just needed to... to change direction slightly, that was all. Be a bit more conservative in their rule.

As he stepped off the carriage, he had to grip the edge of it to avoid stumbling when the world spun threateningly about him. His headache had lessened slightly on the ride, but he felt no better. Perhaps some food would help... but first...

"Lord skekGra!" a Gelfling guard cried as he arrived, bowing before him. "Are you well, my lord? Some of your soldiers arrived before you did, and—"

"Fine, fine," skekGra said, waving a dismissive claw and stepping back so that skekVar could exit the carriage as well. "I am quite well."

The guard—a young Spriton—looked him up and down with no small amount of uncertainty in his expression, and skekGra remembered suddenly that he was still covered in Arathim and Gruenak blood, as well as bearing a few bandaged injuries of his own. An elder guard, a Stonewood woman, took notice of the youth's behavior and elbowed him sharply. "If Lord skekGra says he is well, then it is so," she said harshly.

"No need to berate him," skekGra mumbled, rubbing his head as skekVar stepped down. "He was merely showing how much he cares for his lords."

Whipping his head toward skekGra, skekVar snorted, but made no comment. Instead he jabbed a claw at the carriage and addressed the waiting guards. "The Arathim problem in Domrak has been dealt with. Now we've a number of weapons that will need cleaning and sharpening, and the armaligs need to be taken care of."

"Yes, my lord!" several Gelflings cried, and immediately stepped up to the carriage to take care of matters. SkekGra turned to watch them for a moment, and didn't miss the younger Gelfling taking another glance at him before attending to unloading the carriage.

As skekGra left the General and stepped into the castle, the comforting familiarity of its dark walls was soon drained out by the unnerving trickle of _deja vu_. This feeling only intensified as he passed by a window, and he _swore _he saw a barren landscape outside. Looking back, he found that the land, while dimmed and gray under the darkening sky, was as lush and green as ever.

With luck, it would _stay _that way.

Feeling all the more determined, he straightened himself as much as he was able, and strode confidently toward the throne room. He would tell skekSo what he saw, they would fix things, and that would be the end of it.

He stopped short as soon as he entered the throne room. He hadn't counted on skekSo not being alone.

The Emperor was seated on his throne, as expected, clutching his scepter and regarding skekGra through heavily-lidded eyes. By his shoulder hovered the Chamberlain, partially in shadow, tapping his fingertips together and giving skekGra a simpering smile.

SkekGra reflexively grit his teeth even as he faced skekSo and gave a stiff bow. _Not you…_

"Welcome back, skekGra," the Emperor said. "I trust that you achieved a swift victory."

"We did, Emperor," skekGra replied. "I have a report to give, though…" his eyes flicked to skekSil, who raised a brow, "...due to the nature of the report, I was hoping to give it in private."

SkekSo glanced at the Chamberlain as well, as though considering it. SkekSil, however, kept his gaze locked on skekGra and merely tilted his head, his eyes glinting. "Hmmm, this seems _unwise_. Out of all other Skeksis _I_ am most familiar with Grottan Gelfling clan, which is surely the subject of new report, yes?" He turned to skekSo. "But if Chamberlain's insight is not wanted, I will do as Emperor commands."

"Hm." The Emperor clicked his tongue, and regarded skekGra again. "SkekSil is acting as my personal advisor. You may give your report to us both."

"_This_ time, yes, hmmm?" the Chamberlain said, in a tone clearly meant to invoke the feeling of sticking skekGra with a dagger and twisting the handle. SkekGra ran his tongue over his teeth and attempted to shrug off the jibe.

"Of course, my Emperor," he said, making another quick bow. He took a step forward. "The fight went mostly as planned, and with skekVar acting as general we secured an easy victory and wiped out the Arathim invasion. But sire…" He paused, unwilling to continue on, but it was now or never. "I have seen something _terrible! _I saw—"

"Are the Grottans in yet more danger?" skekSo asked.

SkekGra blinked, slightly taken aback. "...Yes, my Emperor. _All_ Gelfling clans are in danger. I have had a vision!" Out of habit, he flared his robes dramatically, though he felt their ragged and blood-spattered appearance lessened the effect somewhat. "I have had a vision of the fall of—"

"Visions?" skekSo interrupted sharply, leaning forward. Out of the corner of his eye, skekGra noticed skekSil lean toward him slightly as well. "Visions, skekGra? It sounds as though you have been consuming moonberries before bed. Is _this_ what you have deemed so necessary to report?"

"This was not a hallucination, or a dream, Emperor—" SkekGra swallowed hard.

"Ah. An _artistic _vision, you mean, then?"

"No, that's not it either—"

The Emperor huffed out a breath through his nostrils and stood, pacing around skekGra before coming to a standstill in front of him. "You must know that skekVar sent a messenger ahead of you with an interesting report of his own."

SkekGra's heart sank.

"According to skekVar, you disappeared from the Arathim battle to chase down 'runaways,' only to show up _unconscious_ with bloody wounds unfit for a Skeksis warrior, and a beheaded Gruenak by your side. A survivor of the previous battle, I assume?"

"...Yes…" SkekGra realized, belatedly, that he had been foolish to think this conversation could be avoided. "The Gruenak was from the tribe we thought we destroyed. I found the creature taking refuge in the Grottan tunnels, and I…" He stumbled over his words for a moment, as an unfamiliar pang pierced his heart. "...I made short work of it."

"And you have no idea how it survived the initial battle?" skekSo asked.

SkekGra sighed. "No, Emperor."

At this, skekSil seemed to perk up, as though he'd caught an enticing scent in the air. "Hmmmm…"

"I see," skekSo said. He looked down at the head of his scepter, casually stroking the curved tip with his finger. "And what of the others?"

Both skekGra and skekSil stared at the Emperor, neither apparently understanding his meaning.

"Others?" skekGra asked.

"Yes, skekGra." SkekSo nodded, facing him with a shrewd and piercing glare. "The messenger reported you were pursuing _runaways_, plural. Yet no other bodies were found near you, neither Gruenak nor Arathim nor any other enemy scum. And it is clear that something wounded your shoulder and rendered you unconscious. Something that you were chasing bested you in battle, and _escaped_."

SkekGra's mind raced; he could feel the beginnings of panic. What could he say? He could have slaughtered all three Gruenaks with one swipe, and yet he had not, either on the hill or deep in the Grottan caverns… He was going to be punished brutally for this slip-up… And the vision, the _vision_, it was crucial that he tell…

"The shoulder wound is only an Arathim bite, sire," he said quickly, trying to make up for his momentary lapse. "I received it in Domrak—any Gelfling who were with me can verify this. I wasn't watching closely enough, but I rent the crawler in half as soon as I felt its bite. The wound has been dressed and will heal seamlessly."

"And the unconsciousness?" skekSo demanded.

"Well, my Emperor, the vision—"

"Friend Conqueror!" skekSil said suddenly. "Why do you not mention most crucial detail? Surely you want Emperor to know?"

An icy claw of fear pricked at skekGra's heart.

"What do you mean?" he asked, a little more roughly than he had intended—his hand automatically reached for one of his swords, which was not there.

The Chamberlain smiled, the picture of innocence, and spread his talons.

"Why," he said, "Emperor should know that Conqueror was attacked by Great Tree. Entirely not your fault."

SkekGra gaped at him. "I… _was_ attacked by tree. I mean, _the_ tree. How did you know?"

The Emperor shook his head, looking from one to the other. "A tree? What?"

"Great Tree in Grottan lands, Emperor," skekSil explained. "_Vliste-Staba, _Sanctuary Tree, hmm?" Seeing no hint of recognition in either of their faces, he continued on. "Gelfling say such _Staba_ trees move by selves, attack unwelcome visitors." He pointed to skekGra's robes. "See that Conqueror is covered not only in blood but also sap—smell it, yes? Bruises on neck, also, as if strangled. Arathim do not strangle. Even cornered Gruenak does not strangle. But… angry tree, perhaps, blind and unable to tell friend from foe? Yes, is possible. Even likely."

SkekSo whirled on skekGra. "Is this true, skekGra? You were attacked by a _tree?_"

"Such _large_ trees they are, Emperor, capable of besting any Skeksis," the Chamberlain pointed out. "Must not underestimate them."

"It took me by surprise," skekGra said hesitantly, his gaze darting to skekSil and back to skekSo. The strange fact that the Chamberlain appeared to be covering for him… needled at him. "Of course I didn't expect a tree to move."

"Hm." SkekSo gripped his scepter in both hands and nodded slowly. "Then it must be destroyed at once."

"_No!_" skekSil cried, taking both skekGra and the Emperor by complete surprise. "No, Emperor, no, tree is _sacred_ to Gelfling! Destroy it, yes, _eventually_, but not now, and not so easily traced to whim of Skeksis!"

"It is not a whim, if I _command_ it," skekSo growled. The Chamberlain merely shook his head.

"Must wait, Emperor," he said. "First allow Grottans recover from Arathim attack. Maybe then we burn or poison tree, perhaps even place blame on other clan." He made a calm gesture at skekGra. "Is good, also, that Conqueror killed rogue Gruenak before could further influence Grottans, hmmm? Now Grottans know of Gruenak treachery, any other surviving metal-manglers can seek shelter with Gelfling no longer. Will soon perish in tunnels."

There was a long silence. SkekGra, tense, felt as though crawlies were running up and down his spine as he waited for the Emperor to come to a decision regarding the Grottan tree and… him.

Did he dare bring up the vision again? How could he not, when he had seen what was at stake?

"Emperor, my vision—" he began, but broke off in confusion when the Chamberlain made a sharp, hissing rasp in his throat.

"_Enough_," skekSo said. "I had been planning punishment, but due to apparent… _extenuating circumstances_…" the phrase sounded as though it tasted foul on his tongue, and he glared at the Chamberlain as he said it, "that can be waved aside." With a sigh, he dropped back onto his throne, knuckling his beak for a moment.

"I see the sense in your plan, skekSil," he said at last, looking back up at them. "We will wait to harm the tree. At first light tomorrow I will send a convoy of fresh soldiers to take care of the Gruenaks once and for all." He met skekGra's eyes, his own flashing. "And you will _not_ be among them. You are both excused."

Some ugly emotion that seemed to be a mixture of shock, anger, and, bafflingly, _relief _(followed by outrage at the latter feeling), flared in skekGra's chest, rendering him unable to speak. But he wouldn't dare anyway—not right now, not after he'd so narrowly escaped punishment at the hands of the Emperor. He was no coward, but no Skeksis who valued himself did not fear skekSo's wrath.

A grating _hmmmMMMMmm _cut through his confusion, and he watched the Chamberlain stride easily past him. The other Skeksis turned to give him a slow nod—one that would appear to anyone else like acknowledgement, but skekGra could see the look in skekSil's eyes.

_We _will _talk about this._

After turning to the Emperor to give him a final, quick bow, skekGra whirled back around with an irritated _hiss_ and a stabbing pain in his head, stamping after skekSil. Whatever the Chamberlain wanted, he may as well get to it now, before skekSil decided to drop it on him at an even more inopportune time.

Truth be told, he was somewhat relieved that skekSil had come to his aid, but the relief only went so far. If there was one thing anyone knew about skekSil, it was that he _never _did something for anything other than his own benefit.

But what in Thra would the Chamberlain get out of helping _him_?

Once they were well out of the throne room, skekGra finally spoke up: "Chamberlain."

SkekSil slowly turned to him, a hint of fangs showing in his smile. "Is nice evening for walk, hmmmm?"

The night was damp and humid, the sky was still overcast and terribly dark, and skekGra was tired and hungry.

"Yes, fine," he said, and the Chamberlain turned away, striding comfortably down the winding hallways of the castle and up to one of its many balconies. The Gelfling guards posted there both gave short bows to the two as they stepped out.

"My lords," they said in unison.

"Guards are doing a fine job tonight, yes?" skekSil said, smiling at them. "Such fine job. Yes. Deserve early breaks, both of you."

The two Gelfling exchanged smiles and bowed again. "Thank you, Lord Chamberlain!" the first said. "But the next shift—"

"Will be taken care of. All taken care of, yes, fine, enjoy selves."

As the guards hurried away, skekSil finally turned to face skekGra. Even though the Sisters were hidden by cloud cover and no stars shone, skekGra thought he could see a glint in the other Skeksis' eyes. "Friend skekGra," the Chamberlain began, "how are feeling after battle? Sanctuary Tree was not kind to Conqueror."

"I'll be fine," skekGra said, swishing his tail. "Especially since it sounds like I won't be out in any battles for a while."

"Yes, hmmm, but time to rest is good. Skeksis are stronger than Gelfling, yes, immortal, of course—but even Skeksis, when not rested properly, do not do well. Start dozing off, or mind wandering, or... _seeing things_."

Ah. So _that's _what he was after. "I'd _meant _to talk to skekSo."

"Yes, and friend Chamberlain saw how Emperor brushed Conqueror off! SkekSo is very busy, yes, has many things on mind, did not understand Conqueror. Had no time to listen. But _I _will listen to skekGra." He dipped his head and tipped it to the side, his smile never wavering, and placed a talon to his chest. "Am friend."

While the Chamberlain surely meant to come off as friendly, skekGra couldn't help but repress a shudder. SkekSil had to be one of the hardest Skeksis to read. Even so... "I suppose so," skekGra relented partially. "Thank you for talking the Emperor out of that punishment, by the way."

It wasn't until skekSil stood up straight and blinked at him that he realized how absurd that sounded. Clearing his throat, skekGra started to speak again, but skekSil cut him off. "Ah, I thought friend skekGra seemed _different_, not self, as it were. Very strange."

"I am perfectly fine!" skekGra snapped, slapping his tail against the ground for emphasis. "I just need some rest, like you said."

"Hmmm, true. But something is bothering you, yes? Something you must talk to someone about? Something you _saw_?"

If confronting Emperor skekSo about the vision seemed a difficult ordeal, talking to the Chamberlain about it would be even more so, especially since he was sure skekSil would find a way to use it against him. Though... for what reason, he had no idea. What in Thra would skekSil have against him, anyway? Maybe it _would _be better to say something to him, or...

"Not to worry, friend Conqueror!" the Chamberlain went on, as though reading his thoughts. "Am _friend_. Will listen. Tell Chamberlain what is troubling you?"

"I..." SkekGra stared at his fellow Skeksis, and... skekSil truly _did_ look sympathetic. He realized that he did not actually know the Chamberlain all that well. Hundreds of trine spent living in the same castle and they had rarely held a proper conversation, other than skekSil attempting to garner favors from him and skekGra trying to avoid him at every turn. Perhaps he did not have an accurate judgment of the other Skeksis after all. Still, could he really trust him with this information? He'd really rather talk to skekSo first.

"Chamberlain overheard how General was rough with you," skekSil said suddenly, frowning. "No sympathy for poor skekGra, attacked by giant tree! And other Skeksis at dinner, of _no _help when skekGra's precious puppets on fire! And Emperor, yes, too busy to listen to skekGra. But _I _will listen. _I _am friend. What is vision you spoke of? What really happened at Gruenak battle, Conqueror? Please, tell Chamberlain everything."

He _was_ desperate for someone else to know—for someone else to hear about these terrible images that wouldn't leave his mind, to help him figure out if these visions he'd seen were truly to be believed...

SkekGra drew in a breath. "Well—"

A terrible clanking and clattering noise startled him, and he turned to see several exhausted-looking Gelfling soldiers arrive, dragging a large sack behind them. "Lord skekGra!" one of them said, bowing, while the other two panted at her side. "By order of Lord skekVar, we have brought you, um..." She faltered, looking back at the sack warily. It was dripping.

"Samples?" one of the other soldiers offered.

"Y... yes, important samples from the battle," the first soldier finished, nodding to skekGra.

SkekGra blinked. What samples were they...

In the lantern light of the castle hallways, he could see that the substance dripping from the sack was green. He very suddenly realized that his hands were still slimy. "Yes, thank you. Take it to my room, and uh... take the next few days off, or something."

As he watched the soldiers leave with the sack, an annoyed _mmmmmm_ caught his ear, and he looked back to skekSil. Any trace of friendliness was gone from his expression, his lips pulled back into a slight snarl at the interruption. But a split second later the smile was back in place as he dipped his head to skekGra again. "Very generous of skekGra. Now, as was saying—"

"No, uh..." skekGra shook his head, blinking a few times to remind himself where he was, and to just _whom_ he was speaking. "No, I think I'll wait for a more opportune time to speak with Emperor skekSo," he said.

The friendly smile on skekSil's face twitched. "_Of course_," he purred. "But remember, friend skekSil is _always _here if need someone to listen."

"I'll... keep that in mind." With that, skekGra whirled around, heading straight for the baths. He was going to get cleaned up, and then eat, and then sleep, and then... he was going to think.

And the Chamberlain was going to keep his pointy beak out of it.

* * *

The banquet that night was a different affair than skekGra was used to. It was an unusually late start to a feast, due to their late arrival, but the others had insisted, preparing a special celebration in honor of—and the Emperor had made this very clear in his brief speech at the start—_skekVar's _sweeping victory over the Arathim invasion of Grot. SkekSo's gaze drifted to skekGra as he spoke, eyes narrowed and beak tilted upward; then he broke away and everyone greedily dug into the food without comment, as though skekGra had never even been part of the Arathim skirmish.

Ordinarily, he would have been severely offended at such an outrageous slight, especially at the hands of the Emperor himself. Tonight he had too much on his mind to give the matter anything more than the barest acknowledgement. Ideally he wouldn't even be sitting here, but to miss this feast would seem suspicious, and besides… he _was_ hungry. Days of eating very little were beginning to catch up to him, and he slurped down globs of spiced noodles and seaweed from the bowl in front of him in a spray of slime.

But no, he did not need to be celebrated for a victory that he had truthfully contributed very little to, and the lack of mention of his involvement meant a lack of probing questions from the other Skeksis. No one even brought up his apparent failure at the battlefield, which was a relief. At least most of his brethren could be counted on to be completely uninterested in things that did not concern themselves.

Though he was a little disappointed that no one seemed to be clamoring for a new puppet show.

He was nudged sharply from his right side and glanced up quickly to see the Gourmand, sitting next to him, grinning blearily.

"SkekGra! You haven't tried this stew!" skekAyuk rasped, and proceeded to dump a pile of some sort of meat and clammy tentacles into his bowl. "This will cure _anything_ that ails you!"

He chortled, hiccuped, and tore into his own food again. SkekGra's stomach lurched as he looked down at his bowl. Unbidden, his eyes slid down the left side of the table to land on skekLach, whose beak was currently dripping into her own food. A shudder jolted through his whole body and he automatically shoved his food away.

"Mmm, not hungry?" the Chamberlain's voice simpered from his left side. SkekGra's fingers snagged one of the tablecloths and bunched the draping in his fist. He was going to need to have a few sharp words with whatever genius had decided these seating arrangements.

"I am _fine_," he grated.

"No you're not!" skekAyuk belted out from his other side. SkekGra wondered vaguely how much ale he might have consumed before the feast even started. "Have you had anything but noodles and greens all night? I've never seen anyone else at this table eat like a Gelfling!"

"Food is not to Conqueror's tastes tonight, hmm?" skekSil said, still looking at him. "Most unfortunate. This is _your_ victory too, yes?"

"I am just not in the mood for meat!" skekGra said, and his gaze inadvertently fell on the Collector again. He dared not blink—the backs of his eyelids seemed to be burned with the image of skekLach's skin melting into her bowl.

He stood abruptly, causing a few along the table to glance up at him, and turned to skekSo. "Sire, forgive my hasty exit, but I must retire early."

"Go on, then," skekSo drawled.

SkekGra bent forward in a bow, and looked to skekVar. "And I offer congratulations on your victory, General. Your presence in the caves made all the difference."

With that, he swept from the room before anyone could call him back, forcing himself to ignore his queasy stomach.

SkekGra's mood did not improve by the time he reached his room, and worsened still when he walked in and immediately tripped over something to sprawl headlong on the floor and jar his injured shoulder.

With a dry hiss and a snap of his jaws he clambered back to his feet to examine the thing he had stumbled on—a sack stained with green was sitting just inside his doorway.

"Idiots," he growled. Those Gelfling could have at least taken this to his art room instead of his _bedroom_. Then he wouldn't have had to look at the thing right away. And it wouldn't bleed all over his floor. He picked up the end of the sack, heaving it a little and jostling the contents inside, and a wave of lightheadedness swept over him.

He dropped the sack immediately and pressed his hands to his eyes. It smelled so strongly of blood, but deeper than that—fear… _death_…

SkekGra peeled his hands away from his face and found himself gazing at his wall, adorned with scarlet-colored paintings; at the shelves, decorated with puppets carved from bone and tanned skin. Bile rose up in his throat.

Steeling himself, he took hold of the sack again and dragged it out of the room, leaving a thin trail of green on the floor. Fortunately he knew a quick way down into the depths of the castle that would not require him to go near the banquet hall again. Any Gelfling guards he passed along the way he simply nodded to—they bowed back, none questioning the bulky and bloody sack he carried with him. They probably didn't want to know what was in it.

He heard noises from the lab long before he reached it, stepping over the threshold amidst a chorus of animal screeches and rattling cages.

"Scientist?" he called above the noise.

"_What?_" skekTek, unseen, snapped from somewhere at the other end of the lab. "If you've come with another request, skekGra, take it to someone who will tolerate it! I don't have the time or patience to fabricate another inutile device for your frivolous performances!"

"But no one else is any good at building inutile devices!" skekGra replied, in an attempt at good humor, to which the only response from the other Skeksis was a bout of dark but incoherent muttering. "Anyway, anyway, I didn't come with a request this time. I have samples for you to study, if you want them."

There was a pause, and then the Scientist shuffled into view, looking at him suspiciously. "Samples, you say? What kind?"

SkekGra glanced down at the sack. He hadn't actually looked inside it. "Some of the Gelfling soldiers gathered Arathim parts. I don't want them."

"Hmph. And I presume you're expecting me to make you some sort of paint from this?'' skekTek sniffed, though he approached skekGra and rummaged in the sack for himself.

SkekGra frowned. "I've always made my own paints."

"Brushes, then? Knives? What do you want?" skekTek demanded. SkekGra clicked his beak in annoyance.

"All I want is to get that sack out of my sight!" he said. "Do what you want with it."

The Scientist peered at him skeptically for a moment longer, then withdrew from his search of the sack and dragged it further into the lab with a grunt. His hands were now stained green. "_Nnngh_, yes, these will be much more purposive for use in my studies than in your trifling arts and crafts." He turned his glare back to skekGra. "Though I would have preferred a _live_ specimen, or at least an intact one. I assume you didn't bring one back with you."

SkekGra huffed in exasperation. "No, I'm afraid that slipped my mind."

"Well, if you have no further business here, then leave. You are agitating the animals."

The caged animals actually seemed to have calmed down significantly. SkekGra stayed where he was, watching the Scientist place the sack of Arathim parts by the wall and start to return to whatever he was doing before skekGra's interruption. Something nagged at him.

He took a deep breath. "You... put a lot of work into that machine prop for me, didn't you?" he said. "For my show?"

"The fact that you persist in _talking_ implies you haven't left yet."

"I shouldn't have burned it," skekGra sighed, then thought back over that statement. "Or, I should have told you I was planning to burn it, because it was _supposed_ to look spectacular."

The Scientist reappeared, staring at him with a perplexed expression. "Are you… attempting to _apologize_ to me?"

"Agh, _yes_," skekGra said. "Wait, what do you mean, _attempting?_ Do you need me to put it in writing?!"

SkekTek raised a brow. "I would say yes, if I thought you knew how." He considered skekGra for a long while, narrowed eyes raking him up and down, then he beckoned toward the area where he kept disappearing. "Come over here; I will show you what has been occupying my time."

SkekGra had been about to leave. However, his curiosity piqued, he obliged, following the Scientist back into another room where he was faced with a wide gap in the wall through which orange light poured. Near this window was some sort of apparatus consisting of gears, chains, and levers that he couldn't fathom the function of.

"This leads to the central shaft?" skekGra guessed. He had never bothered to explore this chamber before.

"Below sits the Lake of Fire," skekTek said, gesturing toward the window. "High above floats the Crystal. This shaft is propitious in allowing me to send up scientific equipment via a pulley system to study the Crystal, experiment with it, but it has always been _lacking_. Only recently have I found the solution!"

Gleefully he began pulling levers and turning cranks on the apparatus, causing a creaking, groaning noise that made skekGra's hackles rise and set his teeth on edge. He watched, astonished, as a pair of metallic arms descended into view in the gap, with the Crystal of Truth itself clasped between them. It jolted to a stop before the two of them.

Was it his imagination, or could he feel it shuddering?

"You see!" skekTek crowed. "Now it is within arm's reach! Of course it will require some modifications, as the arms are merely prototypes, and it needs some sort of steadying mechanism. Chains, perhaps! Do you see the brilliance of it?" He smiled widely at skekGra, his eyes shining. "Think of the applications!"

"How long have you been… experimenting with the Crystal?" skekGra asked uneasily. He was sure that he could feel a throbbing in his head, quite aside from the headache he had woken up with, and the only source for it that he could imagine was the Crystal held prisoner in front of his eyes. "We are meant to protect it!"

"Oh, trine upon countless trine I've been studying it," skekTek said carelessly. "I use the utmost caution. What do I look like, an unwieldy nebrie? I know exactly what I'm doing!"

With another quick sequence of lever pulls, he sent the Crystal back up the shaft and into its proper place.

"Now I will attend the feast," skekTek said. "Assuming the unconscionable rabble up there has left me more than a few tasteless crumbs." He jabbed a gloved talon at skekGra. "_You_ leave, too. I don't abide anyone being here unaccompanied!"

"SkekTek, wait!" skekGra blurted, as the Scientist was already walking towards the doorway. The other Skeksis grunted and turned back toward him. "The Crystal… I don't think it's ours to toy with."

"What nonsense are you prattling?" skekTek snorted. "We rule the Crystal. We rule Thra!"

"Not for much longer, at this rate!" skekGra retorted before he could stop himself.

The Scientist's eyes widened and he crept back closer. "...What? Was that heresy you just spoke?"

_Oh, no_.

SkekGra had not meant to speak of this to anyone but skekSo. Certainly, skekTek was no skekSil, and the knowledge was probably safer with him, but he was going to land himself in serious trouble. But… he did need someone else to know… The images granted to him by the Grottan tree seared in him like unbearable fire, and he could not handle it alone…

"I've had a vision," he said at last.

SkekTek eyed him for an uncomfortably long time.

Though skekGra did not shrink away, he felt his heart gripped with anxiety as he wondered what skekTek would think of this. Surely the Scientist wouldn't pass it off as an artistic whim, as skekSo had, but—

"A vision... from the Crystal itself?"

Blinking, skekGra found the Scientist's head was cocked, his eyes narrowed, though not in anger. "Er... no," he answered, and the other Skeksis grunted, straightening his back again.

"Skeksis don't have visions—"

"From a tree!" skekGra cried. SkekTek was gazing at him incredulously, so he went on. "A Great Tree, in the Caves of Grot! It was, ah... list... uh... vil... um—I don't know, _something_-_stab-you_—"

"_Staba_, yes," skekTek hissed. "You speak of the Sanctuary Tree of Grot?"

Well, that made things slightly easier. "_Yes_," he said. "How did you—"

"I have experimented on much of the foliage of this wretched world on my own, you simpleton. I tried to obtain samples from the tree, but that meddling Chamberlain forbade it." He shuffled over to one of the shelves along the wall, where he pulled out a nebrie-leather-bound book and flipped through the pages. "The Great Trees are indeed sapient, though they are mute. But imparting visions onto other beings? Preposterous."

SkekGra grit his teeth. "It's what happened. The tree sprouted a flower and forced me to touch it. And then it showed me its vision."

"_Incredible_," skekTek said, his voice flat, his gaze still locked on the book in his hands. "And how exsanguinated were you before you saw this vision?"

While he wasn't entirely sure what the word meant, skekGra got the distinct feeling he'd been insulted.

"But out of curiosity, what _did_ you see, anyway?"

SkekGra's heart leapt, only to sink again when he realized he would have to recount the horrors he'd seen. But... it was necessary, if he wanted someone else to know.

"I saw terrible things," he began, staring down at the floor, for he did not dare shut his eyes. "I saw every thinking race of Thra slaughtered, even the Gelfling. I saw Thra itself withering away before my eyes, every green plant gone, every living creature dead. And... I saw us—the Skeksis... eating and laughing and... rotting. Falling apart where we stood."

Finally he looked back up at skekTek, only to recoil with a choked yelp when he saw the Scientist staring at him. Blood was dripping from his empty right eye socket.

"What are you _gawking_ at?" skekTek rasped.

SkekGra blinked—the Scientist's eye was perfectly fine. "Um... nothing. Nothing."

"Hm." Setting his book on a worktable, skekTek stared down at it for a long moment. "And what is your interpretation of this hallucination?"

Breathing out a sigh, skekGra gazed back toward the window leading to the central shaft. "I believe the tree—and Thra itself, perhaps—may be warning us... that... if we push things too far, we may destroy both this world, and ourselves." He thought of the sight the Scientist had been so proud of, the Crystal bound in claws and carried down the shaft, and shuddered. "We _are _Lords of the Crystal," he went on, finding strength in his own words. "The Twice-Nine. Rulers of all Thra. But if we are to do our jobs properly, we must tread carefully, or we won't have a Thra to rule."

"I see," skekTek said, tapping his talons against a page of the book. After a long pause, he nodded decisively. "Yes. I will ponder on this matter for some time."

SkekGra felt like a great weight had been lifted from his back. "_Thank you_, Scientist," he breathed, nodding. "If only I could get the Emperor to—"

"Do _not _go jabbering to the Emperor about this!" skekTek snarled, snapping his book closed. "Are you a wriggling Gelfling infant born the day before?! The Emperor has his own plans for this world, and _you_ do not sit by his side. If you go to him telling _him _how to rule, that shoulder wound of yours will feel like a mere _nick_ compared to the pain he will command to be inflicted upon you!"

SkekGra stood stock-still, flicking his tongue in dismay. He had not thought of that. Normally the only matters he brought to the Emperor were reports of his conquests, or news from lands not yet under Skeksis control, and the Emperor always reacted positively to those. The idea of skekSo's disapproval felt foreign to him.

"And certainly don't tell that conniving Chamberlain," skekTek growled. "Who knows what goes on in that festering, plotting brain of his."

"You don't have to tell _me _twice," skekGra muttered. When skekTek added nothing more, he made to leave, but paused when he heard a light cough.

"I will admit, skekGra," the Scientist said in a lower voice, rifling through his book again and refusing to look up, "I was _mildly _impressed by that ludicrous puppet performance of yours the other night. But don't expect me to make another device for you."

SkekGra stared, somewhat stunned. He couldn't remember the last time someone had genuinely complimented one of his shows. "Thank you," he said, hoping that skekTek would receive the gratitude better than skekSil had. "I'll... try to remember to bring you a better sample next time."

"That would be..." skekTek bit the end of a quill he'd picked up, "..._appreciated_."

Finding himself smiling for the first time in a while, skekGra nodded. "Goodnight, skekTek."

The other Skeksis made a noncommittal grunt in response, and finally skekGra turned to head back to his chamber. But as he walked, he repressed a shiver.

If skekTek thought _this_ concern was foolish to bring to the Emperor... he hadn't even mentioned what the vision had said about the Mystics.

* * *

Usually, when he walked without purpose, he felt at peace.

Tonight, urGoh stared up at the overcast sky as he plodded down the narrow path, his own mind no clearer. Behind him was Aughra's High Hill, glowing softly against the dark clouds. Before him was nothing but uncertainty.

He could return to the Valley, where the other urRu wanted him, but that would mean facing Master urSu again... and admitting that he had failed. Another option was to resume his wandering, but the terrible feeling that burdened his heart seemed to weigh down his feet as well; the thought of wandering aimlessly, while once an act that brought him joy, now sounded empty and meaningless.

He must focus his mind elsewhere.

His vision had made it clear that the Crystal must be healed... but how? It seemed an impossible task. The shard he held did not belong to it—no shard in Aughra's observatory did. What good was the shard now? Besides, the Crystal was kept deep within the darkened castle, unseen by any beings but the Skeksis for five hundred trine.

"_You must seek help from another source. ... It is there that you will find what you most desperately seek."_

That was what urSol had told him. UrZah, too, had urged him to travel to the Orrery. Why had he even listened to their meaningless chanting? What good had this journey even done? He'd failed his original objective. The Gruenaks were dead.

_Dead_... because of...

The image of that dark creature rising over the hill, his blood-red robes stained yet darker, loomed in urGoh's mind, as did the image he'd seen in the vision... a cruel face reflected within a crimson pool.

His own blood boiled within him.

It was a feeling that had been foreign to him until recently, and it utterly filled him, causing his body to tremble, his teeth to grate. That wretched murderer—the one who also wandered this world, not for wanderlust, but _bloodlust_—was the cause of all of this. He was the one who had slaughtered the creatures... and he was the one who caused urGoh to be filled with these overwhelming emotions.

All four of urGoh's fists clenched.

The Conqueror would not see another victory, if he could help it. He _would_ fix things before this happened again.

Before he could think on anything else, something jabbed into his hand, causing him to yelp in pain. It was the twitching crystal shard—it had suddenly turned in his closed palm. Opening his fingers, he found the shard was now pointing firmly in a specific direction.

It pointed out towards the Caves of Grot.

Did it know the desires of his heart? Or could it feel the anger burning within him? Or was it, perhaps, trying to communicate to him that not all hope was lost after all?

These questions urGoh did not know the answer to, but one thing was certain: he now had a direction, and he would follow it.


	7. The Shard Calls to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Wanderer must tell a story, and the Conqueror must heed a calling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya folks! BabyCharmander here this time. The world's kinda gone topsy-turvy but we're still writing! Or... trying to. Inspiration is a weird thing, especially when the world's gone weird, but we have no plans to stop this anytime soon! 
> 
> Thanks to ThePrairieNerd for beta-reading, as always. 
> 
> Enjoy!

UrGoh had grown unused to traversing caverns.

He'd done it a few days ago, but he hadn't gone far inside, and only stayed long enough to give the Gruenaks directions. (He tried not to think about what could have happened if he'd stayed longer, if he'd bothered to make _sure _they would be safe.) Ages ago, he had once explored the vast caves of Thra, back when he could travel more easily.

No longer was he young and swift as he once was. His body had worn down with age, his bones growing heavy and his legs tired. This did not prevent him from wandering, of course, but it was harder now to move in cramped tunnels, so these days he rarely bothered. Besides, he had never felt that the surface of Thra would run out of incredible sights to show him anytime soon.

Now, however, he found himself stooping low as he squeezed through another narrow tunnel, clutching his satchel close to prevent it from scraping the walls. These places were not meant for Mystics, that was for sure.

But then, Mystics weren't meant for Thra.

Once again, urGoh looked down at the false crystal shard, holding it flat in his palm. It still urged him onward, deeper into the caverns. Luckily it had led him around the sole Gelfling settlement down here—not that Domrak was particularly hard to avoid—so he needn't worry about being found... not by Grottan Gelfling, anyway. A deep sigh escaped him; he missed the days when Gelflings were unafraid of the Mystics. Perhaps those days would return with time. For now, he had to resume his quest.

His impossible-sounding quest to heal the Crystal. However _that_ was to be done. He hoped this little shard knew, or would at least lead him somewhere helpful.

Finally the cave widened again, and urGoh was able to stand up straighter and stretch his legs, only to pause as something caught his eye. The air here was damp, as were the cave walls and floor, the entire cave dotted with glowing moss. Illuminated in the dim light was the silver gleam of still water, stretched out before him as far as he could see—a giant underground lake.

The shard continued to point forward.

UrGoh approached the water hesitantly. It was too vast, and too dim within the cavern, to see the opposite shore—if there was one. This was... not something he'd anticipated. He was aware that there were many underground waterways in the Caves of Grot, but he hadn't thought his path would cross any of them. He was the _Wanderer_, not the Swimmer. And while he had run into urSan on a few occasions, none of them had involved swimming lessons.

Slowly he lowered his head and dipped his muzzle into the water, lapping up a few mouthfuls to ease his dry throat as he considered the problem. The water was cold and sweet, but the chill of it made him even less inclined to attempt a swim. How was he to cross?

UrGoh squinted at the water’s edge, trying to follow it with his gaze until it faded off into darkness—the glowing moss seemed to trail to an end at some point. Would it be possible to simply… walk _around_ the lake? Surely it couldn’t be that far to the other shore, and it would be much better than swimming.

Steeling himself, urGoh set off, the echo of his footsteps the only sound besides distant drips of water. The lake was unnervingly still. And _cold_—he winced when he unintentionally swished his tail into the water. As he roamed farther, the path of dry land he followed narrowed, and the world around him gradually faded off into blackness until he was left utterly blind. His heart thrummed with fear.

“This… cannot be the way,” he muttered to himself. He clutched the crystal shard tightly—much as he would like to check its direction again, he could not risk losing it in the black lake… and besides, he would not be able to see which direction it pointed anyway.

Chewing at his lower lip, he swiveled his head around to see the faint green glow behind him. This could _not_ be the way the shard was leading him. It was too dark to make out anything, let alone whatever the shard wanted him to find, and the path was now so narrow that he had both right arms braced against the rough cave wall and had to edge his way forward, his tail now dragging heavily in the water. He let out a breath through his nostrils. Perhaps a few feet further, and if he could still see nothing on the far side of the lake, he would turn arou—

Without warning, the ground beneath his feet disappeared entirely, and with a gasp he plunged into deep, icy lake water, and into muffled silence.

The shock of the cold drove the air from his lungs and seemed to momentarily paralyze his body.

How deep was it?! He couldn’t tell—his head was far underwater, and neither his feet nor his tail brushed the ground. The cave wall was gone as well; he struck out to his right, where he thought he’d fallen, but his hands scrabbled at nothing. Panic flared in him for an instant, and he accidentally swallowed a mouthful of water. Which way was up? He had to get to the surface!

With three arms he struggled in the direction he hoped was upward, the fourth hand still gripping the crystal close to his chest. But he jolted to a stop, blinking.

He wasn’t underwater anymore. He was sitting in a dimly-lit room, long, bandaged talons clutching tightly at bedsheets; his eyes were wide and stared fixedly at the opposite wall, decorated with paintings and what might have been dolls.

Instinctively, urGoh tried to take a breath. Cold water rushed into his lungs.

In the room, the creature whose mind he was inhabiting let out a gurgling gasp and flopped over in his bed, rolling onto the floor with a _thump_.

“Stop—” he croaked, clambering unsteadily to his feet and lurching toward a wardrobe, against which a sword was propped. He grasped the sword handle and attempted to lift it, but collapsed. “_Stop—now—_”

With force, urGoh ripped himself away from that room and back to his own senses, struggling toward the surface with all his might. For an instant the world around him went dark once more and he could feel the water, before he again found himself in the bedroom, staggering toward the other side of the room with a sword in his claws, swinging it randomly.

“You’re—going to kill _yourself_ to get to me?” he hissed, and dropped to his knees. “But there’s a vision—you- you _idiot—_I did what you wanted—”

At last, urGoh’s head broke free of the water into clear air. He immediately hacked up the water he’d swallowed and drew in a long, deep breath, the sweetest thing he’d ever tasted, his ears ringing with a shredding sound like a sword cleaved through canvas, and a last shriek in that harsh, grating voice:

“_They still live!_”

“Hey!” someone said sharply.

UrGoh, caught completely off-guard, nearly submerged himself again. As it was, he strove to keep his muzzle above the surface, but he was quickly coming to realize that keeping himself afloat was _not_ one of his best abilities.

“You! What are you _doing?_” the same voice said. There was a whirring noise, and a soft blue glow seemed to appear suddenly in front of his face: a young, green-skinned Gelfling girl, cupping a hunk of glowing moss in her hands. She wrinkled her nose at him, hovering easily just above the lake water. “Are you tryin’ to drown yourself, or what?”

“Um… well… no,” urGoh said. He hoped his body and lower arms were well-hidden underwater. From the faint light he was finally able to make out the cave wall, which he clumsily paddled over to and clutched at gratefully. “What… made you think… that?”

The girl rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “Because you were just drowning a second ago, weren’t you? What’d you do, try to swim across the tarfing _lake?_ What do they teach you Mystics? You’d have to have gills to make it across this thing, you four-armed scald-skin!”

UrGoh, somewhat stunned at being recognized but evidently not feared, was left with absolutely nothing whatsoever to say to that, except a simple, “...Language.”

The childling set her face in a pouty scowl, which was probably meant to look intimidating. “I’ll talk how I like to brainless nurloc pups who think they can breathe underwater. Why in Thra didn’t you wait for urLii?”

UrGoh stared at the girl, shocked once again. “The Storyteller... is here?”

No other Mystic had seen urLii the Storyteller for many trine. They all knew he lived… _somewhere_ out of the Valley, but he was even more of a loner by nature than urGoh himself was, and it was easy to almost forget he even existed.

The girl gave him an odd expression. “If that’s urLii, yeah, he’s caretaker of the Tomb of Relics, across the lake. Aren’t you here to see him? Why else would a day-walking Mystic come all the way down here? I’m betting you weren’t sight-seeing, and there are plenty of rivers to go drown in on the surface.”

“I… _do_ desire to see urLii,” urGoh said. This must be what the crystal wanted him to do!

The Gelfling nodded. “Right. I was just with him to talk about how the battle went, and for healing advice. One of the lords was badly injured earlier, you know. I’ll let him know you’re here and he can paddle out to get you. Don’t go anywhere!”

With that, she left him in the dark once more, flying off with a speed and agility that urGoh hadn’t known the Gelfling were capable of. He stared after her mournfully.

Where did she think he was going to go?

Briefly his muzzle dipped beneath the water again, and he strained to keep his nose pointed toward the cave ceiling. Well, he could certainly go _down_, he supposed. He would try to avoid that. Unsuited for swimming as he was, he had little choice in the matter.

In the cold darkness of the lake he waited, not knowing how much time was passing, before he heard the gentle splashing of water. In the distance he could see some faint glowing—the Gelfling again, he thought, but if it was her, she was surely caring a great deal more moss. Closer and closer the glow came, until urGoh was able to make out a boat heading toward him... and aboard it, not a Gelfling, but another Mystic, dressed in a ragged cloak covered in glowing moss. In two of his arms he gripped a pole he used for steering his boat, while the other two gripped the edges of it for balance. When the boat grew closer, the Mystic stopped rowing and let the boat drift, peering over the edge to regard urGoh.

"What does this Mystic do here?" he asked, tilting his head. "You do not look like urSan."

"No, urLii... I am urGoh." It was getting harder to keep himself above water; his legs and arms and tail all ached, and felt like they had grown heavier beneath the icy water. "Please... help..."

"The Wanderer has wandered into a pool," urLii remarked, and drew the boat closer. When urGoh frantically reached toward it, however, urLii held up a couple hands, imploring him to wait, and maneuvered the boat until it was nearly past urGoh. "UrGoh should not want to upset the boat."

"The boat... may upset me..." urGoh grunted, grabbing onto the side of it and clinging there, "...if I cannot get on...!" He began to haul himself up, grateful when urLii reached out to help pull him up, the other Mystic skillfully managing to keep the vessel balanced. Finally he toppled aboard, where he sat at the back end of the boat, panting and shivering. "Thank you, Storyteller."

A flutter of wings caught his ear, and, teeth chattering, he turned to see the Gelfling from before flying after the boat. "What a mess you are!" she cried, alighting between the two Mystics. "Who taught you how to swim?"

"N-no... one?"

"That explains a lot."

“Young Gelfling has done well,” urLii said, taking up his place at the front of the boat and starting to row again. He let out a chuckle as though something had just occurred to him. “Oh, what a funny coincidence. UrGoh, this is Argoh."

The Gelfling growled, turning to kick at the Storyteller’s back with a tiny foot. "Ar_got_!" she said. "_Princess_ Argot, if you must know."

"Oh... i-it is... good to meet you," urGoh said, dipping his head in a nod. He wrapped his tail around his body in hopes of warming himself. It did little to help.

"Given how clumsily you fell in, I don't doubt you probably hurt yourself," Argot remarked, holding out the mound of moss she carried as she stooped closer. "I have some supplies with me. Was gonna take 'em back to Domrak but I could spare a few to help a blundering Mystic. Looks like you hit your shoulder good, and..." She trailed off, brow furrowing as she held the moss closer. Slowly her gaze drifted from his neck, to his bandaged hands, and back to his shoulder, and urGoh felt strange. He hoped she didn't assume he’d gotten all these wounds from falling in the lake.

"Argot has no need for that," urLii said without turning. "UrLii has what is needed just ahead."

Shaking herself, Argot stepped back. "Right. Well, I'll leave you both to it, then." In a second her wings were back out, and she zipped away, calling over her shoulder, "Try coming back for a dip in the lake in summertime, urGoh!"

UrGoh watched the light she carried until it faded off, then turned back to urLii, still shivering.

"Where… are we g-going?”

"To urLii’s home."

The cavern was growing lighter now, and up ahead, urGoh could barely make out a landmass in the distance. Were they reaching the end of the lake?

"But..." urLii went on, and urGoh turned toward the glowing moss that coated the Storyteller's back. "UrLii wonders what urGoh is doing here, so far from the Brothers' light."

"UrGoh is—" He cleared his throat and drew out his little shard once more. Even now, it still pointed straight ahead. It seemed he was going the right way after all.

UrGoh glanced down at the cold lake beneath him, and frowned. He decided that he very much did not like following directions.

"I... am not certain yet... myself," he said, finally.

"Then we Mystics must make certain together."

UrGoh nodded, though urLii could not see it, and both Mystics fell silent throughout the remainder of their journey. It likely wasn't much longer, but urGoh was absolutely certain he had experienced an entire trine go faster than that stretch before they reached the other side of the lake. Part of him worried he would become ill if he did not warm up, though he hoped not. He _could_ not, when he had such an important quest to complete.

The land where they docked was covered in mounds of glowing moss, as well as teetering piles of other things urGoh could not immediately discern. On closer inspection, urGoh could make out boxes, swords, masks, armor, and mountains of other objects, all piled onto shelves so densely it was a wonder they hadn't broken. Or well, that they hadn't _all _broken—some had clearly crumbled away many trine ago.

"UrLii welcomes urGoh to the Tomb of Relics," the Storyteller said, gazing about the place with a faint smile on his lips. "Here are many items of Thra's history... kept safe by urLii, who remembers all of their stories."

UrGoh drew in a shuddering breath, gazing around him. "Truly wonderful... but... how do you keep track... of everything?"

There was a pause before urLii spoke. "UrLii is the Storyteller, not the Organizer." With an irritated swish of his tail, he busied himself with digging through a moss-covered chest that sat against a large stalagmite, away from the rest of the relics. He tossed a couple of rocks toward urGoh without turning. "UrGoh will start a fire," he said, and resumed his search.

Well, the other Mystic didn't have to tell him _that_ twice. With a hum of acknowledgement, urGoh stooped to pick up the stones with numb hands and began to gather a pile of dry moss and lichen. At least _this _was something he knew how to do.

It wasn’t long before he got a small fire started on the shore. He carefully encircled the flames with his tail, relishing the warmth that soaked into his clammy skin. Behind him, urLii was doing something that involved clinking and grinding and a lot of chanting.

_A healer's chant_, urGoh realized. Being a lone traveler, he was well-versed in healing herbs and remedies, but chants had never been his forte.

"You could... teach me how... to do that," he said.

The chanting stopped. "Healing needs only the right herbs... and the right song,” the Storyteller said. “UrGoh may sing with urLii." He resumed chanting where he'd left off, and urGoh tentatively hummed along from where he lay by the fire, self-correcting his notes and pitch as he listened. The pattern was more complex than he was used to, but he strove to commit it to memory nonetheless. The two continued chanting, even as urLii shuffled closer to pour the medicine over urGoh's wounds.

UrGoh’s singing faltered and he let out a long breath, stretching out in the warmth from the fire. It soothed his aching, frozen limbs, and the healing potion was cool on his wounded shoulder. Though, as those hurts faded, a new numbness seemed to grow to overtake him, an icy shell forming over his heart that would not be banished by a tiny campfire. It took him a moment to realize that urLii had stopped his chanting.

“Hm… thank… you,” urGoh muttered. Vaguely he thumbed the crystal shard he still held clutched in one hand, miraculously not lost in the water. It had been leading him here, but why? A heavy weariness had settled over his bones, making it difficult to think.

The other Mystic shuffled back into urGoh’s view and regarded him. “It seems to urLii that the Wanderer has more on his mind than hurting wounds,” he said, and paused. “You do not care that your satchel is soaked through?”

UrGoh gave a start and shifted his shoulder, sliding his forgotten satchel out from under him. “Oh…”

The material had been waterproofed for rain, not for an underwater plunge. He reached in and scooped out a sodden wad of pulp that had a few short hours ago been carefully-crafted bark paper, dropping it by the fire with a grunt.

UrLii prodded it with one finger. “This not what troubles urGoh, is it?”

“No.” UrGoh sighed, forcing himself to sit up slightly with a wince. “I have little room… in my heart… for poetry… now.”

“A sentiment shared by Grottans, urLii has heard,” the Storyteller said solemnly, reaching out to wrap urGoh’s shoulder in a clean binding. “And by those _not_ Grottan.”

The healing chant had worked fast—there was almost no pain in his shoulder now. UrLii examined the old bandages on urGoh’s hands.

“Hands need new dressings,” he said, and a slight smile crossed his muzzle. “Many wounds. I did not know urGoh was so clumsy.”

“These are not… _my_ doing,” urGoh replied, feeling slightly cross. He set to unwinding the stiff bandages from his hands.

"UrLii sees," the other Mystic said, drawing urGoh's hands closer. "UrGoh's shadow has been causing him trouble?"

_Shadow_. There was that word again. The wrinkles in urGoh's brow deepened as he let out a deep breath through his nostrils, looking away as the Storyteller worked at re-dressing his burnt hands. He found himself staring at his own shadow, his _real _one cast by the fire, glaring down at it accusingly. And then he blinked.

Hesitantly he reached up to his face with an uninjured lower hand, feeling around the end of his muzzle. It was still round, and yet... why did the muzzle on his shadow look... pointy? Triangular? And his mane, disheveled as it may be, surely did not have spikes—

With a sharp gasp, urGoh jumped, lashing his tail and staring wide-eyed at the shadow. But it was merely his own shape, now—it did not bear the features of... someone else. It had only been a trick of the light.

He would _absolutely _need to sleep soon—now he was seeing things! But to sleep in a cold, damp cave like this, rather than under the wide sky and stars... well, maybe it wasn’t so cold now. The fire was doing its work, and he was feeling less chilled, especially his tail. Or... actually, his tail was a bit hot. He turned his head to regard it—he should probably move it away from the—

"_FIRE_!" he yelled suddenly, pulling his hands away from urLii and stomping on his smoking tail tuft, sending a few shocks of pain up his own spine in the process. As soon as it was out he roughly dropped back down to the cave floor, breathing heavily. To his utter annoyance, urLii was watching him with a smirk.

"Yes. UrLii was correct. UrGoh is clumsy."

"Why didn't... you _warn_... me?!" urGoh growled, flat teeth grit against each other.

Now urLii looked somewhat taken aback, but replied simply, "UrLii was not finished binding urGoh's hands."

UrGoh was starting to get a sense for why urLii did not stay in the valley.

The other Mystic tilted his head, a slightly hurt look in his eyes. "...UrLii does not recall urGoh being angry."

Ah. That. UrGoh looked away, suddenly ashamed. "I... apologize. It is... new to me... too."

"Then, this is what troubles urGoh?"

"I...Yes. No," urGoh began, before slowly shaking his head. No, no more of this for now. "It is… complicated. I would like... to sleep."

The other Mystic regarded him for a moment before nodding. "Very well. UrGoh will sleep... and then give urLii a new story upon waking."

That sounded reasonable enough. Breathing out a sigh, urGoh faced the fire once more, keeping as close to it as he dared. He watched as urLii stoked the flames, keeping them warm, and stared at the shadows they cast on the nearby stalagmite and the distant walls.

UrLii's shadow was thrown wide and indistinct against the sides of the cave, ever moving with the flickering flame. And yet... as urGoh drifted off, he could have sworn it took a more distinct shape—one sharper and more dangerous-looking than any Mystic.

* * *

_Darkness… a feeling like ice seeping through his robes, through his skin, settling deep in his bones... black water, surrounding him… drowning..._

_A tiny light glowing from the darkness, glowing moss… a glowing tree, a vine threaded around his neck, squeezing the life out of him…_

_A hunchbacked creature brandishing a tiny knife at him, its voice cracking as it cried, desperately, “Back! Back!”_

_A low, droning song—distantly, it soothed the pain in his shoulder, his bruised ribs and neck, his hands… but the noise burned, it seared his ears like fire—where was it _coming_ from—?!_

_THUMP._

SkekGra jolted awake again, weak light from the first sun filtering through his window, and found himself sprawled on his own carpet with his sword clasped in his talons. He scrambled up clumsily, noting with a flutter of confusion that he was nowhere near his bed—it was across the room, and in a state of complete disarray. His bed covers were a tangled mess, draped off the side as though some incompetent servant had partially dragged them off and then gotten distracted. One of his pillows was shredded through, spilling downy feathers over the mattress. It almost looked like the scene of an attack, though there was no blood.

His grip on his sword hilt tightened and he cast his gaze around quickly, searching for a trace of any creature that might have made an attempt on his life as he slept—a Spitter loose in the castle, a traitorous Gelfling, or… or…

...or _him_…

SkekGra slumped against the wall, letting his grip on the sword slacken. His enemy had not been within the walls of the castle. And there were visions inside his head, again… Another _dream_. He closed his eyes against the images, massaging them with his knuckles, but it did nothing to dispel them.

“Curse Thra,” he hissed, opening his eyes again and scraping his talons along the rough stone of the wall. “For cursing _me_.”

Something caught his eye and he let out a sound of disbelief. Near him, his newest and greatest painting—his conquest over the Gruenaks—lay in tatters, savaged with a sword. _His_ sword. He remembered now, lashing about in panic as water impossibly filled his lungs on dry land, and as a last resort he had cleaved his sword through the bloodstained painting. It was this that seemed to end the attack.

He had not returned to bed last night—he had slept against the wall instead, his sword resting on his lap, for all the protection it could give against an attacker likely thousands of miles away. He supposed he was lucky he hadn’t fallen on it when he’d awoken.

SkekGra stared at the destroyed painting for a long moment, his upper lip curling. What a waste of art. This all revolved around those accursed Gruenaks. What was so special about _them?_

How many of them had died for this painting?

With the now-familiar feeling of bile rising in his throat, he abruptly turned his back on the canvas and focused his attention on dressing himself haphazardly. His favored red robes were tattered but wearable (though they definitely needed mending soon). His armor, however, was dented in places and his helmet was missing, so in an uncharacteristic decision he went without. It was more comfortable anyway.

He did not look back as he swept from the room and into the corridor, heading for the banquet hall. _Breakfast_. Food and drink, to clear his head. And then the Ceremony of the Sun to restore his spirits.

He noticed immediately that he was up late—the hall was deserted, save for a few scruffy Podling-slaves cleaning up scraps from the table. SkekGra snatched up a few pastries dripping with glaze before the platter could be whisked away, scarfing them down. Their usual sweet taste seemed sour on his tongue.

“Lord Skeksis!” a Podling called from across the room, pronouncing the word with an “-_ah_” sound at the end in that irritating way they did. SkekGra swallowed hard, resisting the urge to spit the pastry back out, and turned to glare at the Podling.

“What?” he said sharply. The Podling-slave hopped across the room and came to a halt in front of him, looking like it was struggling to find the words.

“Gelflings!” it finally said. “Gelflings want see Lord Skeksis!”

SkekGra let out an impatient sigh. “Do you mean me specifically, or any Skeksis?”

In answer, the Podling confidently jabbed a nubby finger at him. “You Skeksis!”

_Wonderful_. “Agh, fine,” he said, and shuffled back toward the entrance to the banquet hall. Sure enough, he found three Gelfling guards—two Spriton and one Sifa—gathered in a corridor outside, the nearest permissible spot for Gelfling these days. They stood with bulky objects wrapped in clean cloths; seeing him, they bowed low, taking care not to drop their load.

“Lord Conqueror!” the Sifa said breathlessly. Her voice carried an odd accent that somehow made him think of crashing waves and salt crystals. “We hoped to catch you before your meal!”

“We have something for you!” one of the Spriton guards said. He was young, looking as though he could barely contain his excitement. Together the three guards pulled back one of the cloths, revealing skekGra’s helmet.

“We found it on the ground in the Caves of Grot, my lord,” the last Gelfling said. He seemed more refined than the other two, but no less eager. “We’ve cleaned and polished it for you.”

SkekGra took it in his hands and looked it over, surprise lighting his eyes. It was pristine.

“And your sword!” the Sifa Gelfling said. They unwrapped the other, much larger object and displayed another of skekGra’s swords—the one he had lost along with his helmet in the cavern with the Great Tree. The blade, like the helmet, had been wiped clean and polished to a shine. He placed the helmet on his head and gingerly took the sword handle, lifting it up. It felt… heavy. Much heavier than it had ever felt before.

“But you didn’t finish it,” he said blankly. His tongue seemed to stick to his beak.

The three guards glanced at each other. “Is- is there still a problem with it, my lord?” The Sifan asked uncertainly.

SkekGra couldn’t take his eyes off the blade. “This was drenched in blood. I can still smell it! Didn’t you clean this at _all?_”

He tore his gaze away from the sword to glare back at the Gelfling, and balked. As excited as they had been mere moments ago, they now looked terrified, as though frightened he would swing this sword in an arc and cut through their necks like—

A shiver of revulsion swept through him and he swayed slightly.

“O-of course, my lord!” the Sifa said, eyes wide, throwing herself into a bow. “We must have missed something—I’m so sorry—We’ll take care of it immediately—”

SkekGra shook himself, taking a step back. “No—no, I will take care of this myself. Thank you, Gelfling. You have done… adequately.”

The three guards, looking rattled, bowed again.

“Thank you, my lord,” the Sifa said, and the three hurried away to, skekGra assumed, their posts.

He shifted the sword hilt in his talons, staring at the blade as sick feelings stirred in his gut. “Some might say I own too many swords,” he mused. As he tilted the sword, the blade caught sunlight through the window and seemed to glint red.

Suddenly he didn’t feel like attending the ceremony this morning. In fact, he felt a strong urge to return quickly to his room, and stash this sword far out of sight until this was all forgotten.

* * *

Time was a strange thing to process, so deep beneath Thra's surface. Without the light of the Brothers or the movement of the Sisters as a guide, one unfamiliar with the caves of Grot could not determine what time of day it was, if it was day at all.

Such was how urGoh felt when he woke up, the cave around him as dim as it had been when he'd slept. Well... mostly, aside from the pile of ash that sat next to him—the remains of his campfire. So he must have gotten some hours of sleep. But whether it was enough to keep him going would remain to be seen.

As urGoh sat up and stretched, a musty, warm smell met his nostrils. Turning his head toward the scent, he spotted urLii heading toward him, carrying bowls in two of his hands. It was a different scent from the bitter herbal broth that urAmaj created in the Valley, but it was food nonetheless.

"UrGoh is awake," urLii said as he drew closer. "The Wanderer has slept right through the day. Perhaps he can now give the Storyteller a new story?"

Before answering, urGoh took one of the bowls, finding it to be filled with a dimly-glowing soup, and drained it. It had clearly been made at least partly from the glowing moss, and was sweeter than he had expected.

"Yes," he said finally, setting the bowl aside. "You... wish to know what upsets me." He shook his mane, afraid to look down at his shadow again. "It is half my shadow... and half _this_." Drawing out one of his hands, he held out the shard he'd been holding onto the entire time he'd slept.

UrLii plucked it out of his hand, turning it this way and that. "Hmmm. The Storyteller... may know a story about _this_. But first urLii must know the author."

"The shard comes... from the home of Aughra,” urGoh said. “I... sang to it... and it answered."

"_Ah_!" UrLii smiled, his gaze still upon the little crystal. "Mystics are not a part of Thra... and yet Thra acknowledges Mystics."

"It did." UrGoh hesitated, not certain how much he should tell urLii. No one would take kindly to the news he had to share. But then, urLii rarely spoke to any other Mystics, so at the moment he should only have to deal with _one_ sour opinion. "It... gave me a vision."

UrLii said nothing, so urGoh went on: "Thra gave me... a vision... of a map. And the Crystal of Truth." Slowly he closed his eyes, remembering. "The Crystal... is cracked."

"UrLii knows this. Where does the map lead?" UrLii slurped noisily at his soup.

"Oh... it did not lead. It merely showed..." urGoh frowned. "It showed... the Gelfling tribes. And where they lived... and the map tore itself to pieces... and rearranged itself..."

"Interesting. Does urGoh think the Gelfling tribes plan to move at some point? Because urLii does not think the Grottan plan to leave the caves anytime soon."

"I... am not sure... what it means yet," he admitted. "I... think it may have something to do... with the Gelfling tribes... working together? Perhaps to heal the Crystal..."

"Hmmm." UrLii sat back on his haunches, setting his own bowl aside. "Healing the Crystal and helping the Gelflings... urGoh is surely not bothered by such a happy story. Perhaps urGoh is not telling urLii the _whole _story."

Well... maybe urLii was more perceptive than urGoh had given him credit for. "...Yes,” he said. “There is... another thing..." Hesitating, he looked down at his own shadow again, barely visible without the campfire, and found that while couldn't make out the distinct shapes... it still held itself differently from _himself_. He shivered. "Thra chose to show me something... strange."

"Strange?"

"Thra... seems to want..." A terrible burning welled up within his heart, even as he reflected on it. "Thra, who separated us to begin with... seems to want... the Skeksis... and Mystics... to _unite_."

"Oh."

UrGoh snapped his head up to look upon urLii again, but the other Mystic seemed neither surprised, nor horrified, nor angered. "...That... is all... you have to say?"

Lifting all four arms in a wide shrug, urLii cast his eyes upon the heaps of items scattered around the Tomb of Relics. "UrLii has studied many of Thra's stories, and come to learn them himself. They are all very strange in their own way—the tales of Gyr the songteller and his firca, the deadly islands bearing delicious fruit to lure in unsuspecting sailors… Thra's stories are always unusual... and at this point, nothing would surprise urLii."

For several long moments, urGoh held himself very still, looking urLii in the eye. "And... urLii... would take no issue... in standing with... skekLi?"

This finally made the Storyteller flinch. "I did not say—"

"Then why should I stand... with the _Conqueror_?" urGoh growled. When urLii did not immediately reply, he took a step forward. "The Conqueror... who bathes himself in blood? The Conqueror... who only travels so that he may find more to destroy? The Conqueror... who mercilessly seeks to slaughter the innocent... even after I have saved them—"

"The Wanderer... a hero?" urLii interrupted. "This is a story... urLii has not heard."

It was merely a distraction from a more difficult topic, urGoh knew, but he sighed. "The Conqueror sought... to conquer the Gruenaks. I rescued... some... brought them here... and yet..."

"_Gruenaks_?" urLii repeated. "A very interesting story you tell me..."

Before urGoh could reply, urLii was already turning around, heading elsewhere in the Tomb. UrGoh felt irritation crackling over him as the Storyteller ignored the point _once again, _and he followed after his fellow Mystic through the piles of what frankly looked like junk. "Hold on... I haven't... told you..."

UrLii stopped abruptly, swinging his long neck down one aisle of shelves pointedly. Initially urGoh opened his mouth to try to explain, _once again_, the point his fellow Mystic seemed intent on missing, but he found himself briefly following urLii's gaze.

And he froze.

Two figures were huddled at the very end of the aisle, against a stalagmite and between two shelves of artifacts, two untouched bowls of broth sitting nearby. One figure was larger than the other, but both were hunchbacked.

Gruenaks.

Specifically, two of the three Gruenaks he'd led here in the first place.

Eventually urGoh realized he was gaping at them, and his muzzle snapped shut. "_How..._?" he murmured. "I thought... I had _seen _the Conqueror..."

...The Conqueror...

_I did what you wanted! They still live!_

The words came back to him like a splash of cold water on his face. He hadn't considered them until now—he'd been more concerned on not drowning at the time—but it suddenly began to make sense, everything the Conqueror had been screaming at him during the brief, dizzying vision. The Gruenaks did indeed still live. Or... two of them did, anyway. The third, however…

He remembered the blood puddled among the roots of the tree.

UrGoh bowed his head. "I am... sorry," he said, unable to look the poor creatures in the eye. "I had... wanted you to be... safe... here..."

The creatures said nothing, only huddling closer together, and urGoh knew that no words would mend the deep wounds they had suffered.

Even if they _had _been spared.

He swung his head away abruptly, frowning at a dented metal shield on the ground. So what if the Conqueror had spared _two _of them? Did that make up for the hundreds, _thousands_ of other creatures he'd slaughtered? Had he merely spared two to ease his own guilt, to tell Thra that he was _good _now?

_But what Skeksis feels guilt to begin with?_

With a rough growl, urGoh stomped away, heading back toward the ashes of the campfire. No, the Conqueror would never be anything but a murderer, no matter how many he spared on a whim during his bloodbaths. UrGoh would have nothing to do with him, whatever Thra said on the matter. He needed to get out of here.

Scowling, he looked down at one of his hands, confused to find it empty. Slowly he brought all four hands before his face, and gave a start, looking around for the crystal shard. Where had it—

A low chanting reached his ears, and he turned to see urLii holding out the shard, humming strange words to it. _Now _what was the Storyteller doing? UrGoh hurried over to him, suddenly worried that the shard would break. What did he think he was _doing _to it, anyway?

But whatever it was, it seemed to work (or seemed to do... _something_, anyway), for now the shard was glowing, emitting a faint, pulsating ringing noise. UrLii, done chanting, eyed urGoh as he held the shard out to him. "The Crystal of Truth... is not the _only _crystal... through which Thra communicates."

"And what... has it told you?" urGoh asked, taking the shard back and studying it. It was strangely warm in his palm, and glowing. The feeling of it seemed to calm the strange, foreign anger roiling within him.

UrLii gave him a look that urGoh couldn’t read. "That there is someone... who should speak with the Wanderer."

* * *

Candle light flickered over skekGra’s face as he squinted at his work, actively forcing his trembling talons to still. The darkness of the dead of night enveloped the glow from the candles he had set up so that he felt as though he was the only thing that existed, him and his disturbing creation that he fought to save.

The glimmering paint that coated the end of his brush was just that: dye, nothing more, made by crushing the inedible berries that grew near the river. But it was oh, so red. His mind was even half-convinced that it carried the putrid stench of death. But even the blood that he had painted with mere days ago held no such scent.

He had stitched up the tear with his best needlework, and pasted strips of canvas to the back of the painting to better hold it together, but with so much damage the image itself needed mending.

Sleep for him that night had seemed as far distant as the Field of Fire. He had found himself sitting on the edge of his bed in the darkness, still dressed in his daytime robes, his tail curled around his feet and his helmet clutched on his lap with shaking hands. At last he had given up all pretense of trying to sleep and had taken out his painting again with the intent to finish fixing it. He had already spent all that day on it, unable to focus on much else.

What fresh horror could possibly be waiting to befall him _this_ night?

As if in answer to his question, a pinprick of sound chimed on the edge of his hearing, and his head almost involuntarily snapped up. What was that? It was like tiny bells being rung some distance away.

“Can’t be,” he said, his mind utterly blank. How could this be happening now? Now, with everything _else_ going on? He knew what the sound was—he’d heard it before, though rarely.

The Crystal was calling.

SkekGra stumbled to his feet, setting the painting to the side and staring at the doorway to his room. The Crystal only called to the Skeksis in times of great importance, and it had never done so this late at night. The others would not take well to being roused from sleep so rudely. What could possibly have happened?

_What if it’s about me?_

Cold horror closed over his heart, briefly, before he forcefully shoved the thought aside, took up a candle holder and his closest sword, and hurried from his room.

The corridors leading down to the Crystal Chamber were dark and silent; he heard nothing but his own shuffling footsteps and the ringing in his ears. He paused, taking in the strangeness and straining his ears for any sign that the other Skeksis had woken. Surely skekSo and skekSil, at least, would heed the call, even if the others did not? Perhaps they were already down there, he convinced himself. Maybe the others were waiting for _him_. He quickened his step and soon found himself emerging into the dark chamber, illuminated only by faint moonlight and the pulsing purple glow of the darkened Crystal of Truth itself.

“Hello?” he couldn’t keep himself from calling out, uncertainly. There was no answer. There was no one else here.

The sound rang again, louder this time, and he focused his attention on the Crystal, moving closer to it. Once more the sound came, then it fell silent. SkekGra found himself standing directly in front of the Crystal.

“_Hello?_” he said again, this time with a touch of irritation. “What is this?”

When no immediate response came, he set the candle holder on the floor and paced around the wide opening to the shaft, glaring at the hovering Crystal. He stopped short, taking another look around the room to verify that no one else had come.

“You only called to me,” he said in a clipped tone, and his voice turned harsh. “You _only _called... to _me_.”

Again, there was no response. He hadn’t truly expected anything different.

“Why?” he hissed, baring his fangs at the silent Crystal. A flash of memory popped into his head, the sight of the great Crystal clasped tightly in metal claws operated by the Scientist. It didn’t look any worse for its ordeal, and at the moment he found he couldn’t care either way. He ventured as close as he could, his toes scarcely a hair’s breadth from the edge of the shaft, and spoke again. “Why call me? Hasn’t this world done enough to me recently?”

“Not… yet,” a low, familiar voice growled.

A cold spike of horror flared from skekGra’s heart and he stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over his own tail. He choked out a single word: “Wanderer?”

The surface of the Crystal swirled with light and color, and a Mystic’s face appeared, magnified tenfold and glaring down at skekGra with such intensity that he felt his breathing falter for a moment.

_It’s a Mystic_, he reminded himself harshly. _It’s _him_, and this fool would never harm a crawlie. Moreover, this is a figment of your imagination_.

He looked back up at the image of urGoh the Wanderer’s face. _But he tried to kill me last night._

“...How are you doing this?” he asked lowly. He looked the Crystal up and down, gripping his sword tightly, but saw no ready answer. “And _why_.”

The Mystic was silent for a moment, his face rippling in the purpled Crystal. “This was not… my choosing,” he said at last. “After all you have done… The Conqueror is the last creature… on Thra… I would wish to talk to.”

“Then why are you?” skekGra demanded. He stood up straighter, wishing he had on his full robes and armor.

The other creature sighed heavily. “I have been… led here.”

“So have I,” skekGra muttered before he could stop himself. His legs cried with the urge to move, and so he did, pacing around the shaft opening again while keeping his gaze locked on the Crystal. The Wanderer’s face followed him from every angle, though the Mystic himself didn’t seem to be moving.

SkekGra found himself at a complete loss. He had never truly spoken to urGoh the Wanderer, never held a conversation with him, and in fact the only time in five hundred trine that they had encountered each other face-to-face had been the fateful Gruenak battle mere days ago.

His face hardened. “Do you even realize,” he said, his voice like brittle ice, “what you have caused with your_ stupid_ interference? What you have _done_ to me?”

The Mystic’s dark, narrowed eyes seemed to reflect skekGra’s own anger right back at him... along with a similar feeling that he would never have expected to see in the eyes of an apathetic urRu. _Hatred?_

“Interference?” urGoh repeated, the word coming slowly. “What you would call interference… I call mercy… The very same that _you_… will never show…”

“Mercy is a weakness!” skekGra spat at once. His eyes involuntarily flicked down to his sword blade, which seemed to glow almost red in the light from the Crystal shaft. He swallowed; his hand shook. He hadn’t meant to grab _this_ one. “...The Twice-Nine are not senseless killers,” he said, refusing to look back into those hateful eyes. “It is our destiny to rule across Thra. We would rather ally with its creatures than destroy them, but they sometimes have other ideas.”

He remembered the battlefield: sprays of blood, screams from Gruenaks cut down where they stood, even the little childlings and their caretakers, huddled in whatever shelter they could find…

“Murderer,” the Mystic growled from the Crystal. “I tried… to _save_ them…”

“Those creatures were not yours to save!” skekGra snapped, though he felt a tremor of horror. He again saw a hunchbacked child crouching nearby, cradled by its sobbing mother and crying out for its father in a language he didn’t understand… “They deserved…”

The Wanderer’s eyes widened slightly, shining with a dangerous light. “They… _deserved_ slaughter?”

“It’s not something that you would understand,” skekGra said, the corner of his beak lifting in a sneer. “But it hardly matters. They were spared. Two of them still live.” He paused thoughtfully, and looked up at the face of his loathed Mystic counterpart, his eyes narrowing. “But maybe I’m being too hasty, saying you wouldn’t understand. After all, you nearly drowned yourself last night, all to get to me.”

“That wasn’t… because of you,” urGoh said, then stopped and blinked as though he had surprised himself. It seemed too candid to be a lie.

SkekGra raised a brow. “_Oh?_ What, then?”

“...I… fell in a lake.”

The two stared at each other for a moment. SkekGra fought to resist the bizarre urge to laugh.

So it hadn't been deliberate after all. The idea brought him a sense of relief, but it was strained by the fact that he was still in the presence of someone he would rather avoid. He could turn around and leave, but what if another Skeksis came in and saw his counterpart in the Crystal?

No, the Crystal brought him here for a reason. He would figure it out, and end this.

"Interference, _mercy_, whatever you want to call it..." he said, glancing aside, "it has done... _something_." Gazing down into the fiery shaft, he saw instead the dim glow of the Caves of Grot. "Something I doubt even you oh-so-_wise _Mystics would understand."

"Try... me," urGoh said, and skekGra looked upward, briefly alarmed to see urGoh's face grow larger in the crystal, as though he were leaning closer.

Shaking himself, skekGra straightened his stance, glaring at the dark face before him. "A _tree _spoke to me. And it... it gave me a vision."

UrGoh stared at him for a moment, then blinked, pulling back, as though surprised. "A... vision?"

"Yes. A vision showing Thra's eventual future." He brought his arms tightly against his chest, bowing his head as he fought to banish the terrible memories. He didn't want to think of what he'd seen, he didn't want to see—

“I… received… the vision… as well.” The words sounded labored, as though the Wanderer was reluctant to share them.

Snapping his head up to look into the Crystal, skekGra made to glare into the Mystic's eyes again, about to demand why he hadn’t spoken of this immediately, but the words died on his tongue.

Dark blood ran down urGoh’s face, originating from a deep wound bored into the top of his head.

_“Not again!_” skekGra shrieked, gagging and stumbling backwards. He nearly dropped his sword, and pawed at his own head with his other three hands, as though to reassure himself that _he_ had no such wound.

"The vision... distressed you?"

Hesitantly skekGra looked back up to see that urGoh had returned to normal, just like the others had. The wound had never existed. On top of that, the Mystic's head was tipped slightly, with what seemed to be an amused smile curling on his lips. Suddenly shaking with rage (and... shame?) skekGra stepped forward, brandishing his tarnished sword at the Crystal. "Of course it did! What lunatic _wouldn't _be upset by those... those—?!" And yet still the Mystic looked amused. SkekGra hissed, mouth agape. "What is _wrong _with you?!"

"Oh…” urGoh said. “I did not know... the Conqueror feared... _maps_."

SkekGra blinked. "Maps?"

"Or was it the _Gelfling_... that the mighty Conqueror... feared?"

"The mighty Conqueror fears _nothing_!" skekGra snarled. But this was strange—yes, the Gelfling had been in the vision—he saw their _demise_. But would that not have distressed the nature-loving Mystic? And when had _maps _been any part of the vision?

"And what of you, Wanderer?” he found it in him to taunt. “Aren't you disturbed, seeing your precious Thra torn to bits, all life sucked out of it?"

The Mystic's muzzle snapped shut, all traces of amusement gone from his face. "What? No. I didn't..."

"Did you have the vision or not?!" skekGra cried, lashing his tail. "I know you saw through my eyes. I heard your voice."

"I did... but I did not see..." The Wanderer trailed off, his mouth opening and closing for a few moments as he tried to figure out what to say. Suddenly his eyes widened, and at the same time, skekGra realized what must be happening.

"We were given..."

"...separate... visions..."

SkekGra took a deep breath, trying to sort it all out, and before he could stop himself the memories of the vision came pouring from his beak—slowly at first, as he felt as though someone else were speaking, rather than him.

"I saw the destruction of Thra. The defeat of the Gelflings, the Podling-slaves, of all life. We Skeksis feasted and gorged ourselves on endless feasts and a strange new substance... and we rotted where we stood. Even in these past waking hours I have seen the General and the Collector crumbling to pieces, the Scientist with his eye plucked out, bloodied swords and puppets and paintings, and just now, _you_—" He stopped abruptly.

A silence hung between them, heavier than the weight of the castle itself.

SkekGra forcibly dragged himself back to the current situation, and harshly reminded himself of whom he was speaking to. "What did _you_ see, Wanderer?"

The Mystic drew back, glancing aside, as though looking at someone else. "I... do not wish to discuss this..." he began, and skekGra felt his hackles rise briefly before the Wanderer went on, "..._here_. I should like... to discuss this..." He swallowed once, and skekGra could nearly see it trail down his counterpart's lengthy neck. "_In person._"

"What," skekGra said flatly, his beak dropping open. "I-in _person_? Why?"

"This is greater... than the both of us," urGoh said, staring into his eyes. "Greater... than you... or I. If we... are to solve this... we must meet... _together_."

Meeting peacefully with a Mystic. The very idea of it sounded almost... _heretical_. But the vision would not leave him alone. It returned to him _again_ and _again_. Was he to go through the rest of eternity like this, constantly afraid that he might look up and see some new horror?

_No_. He would not put up with this any longer.

"Fine. _Fine_," he snapped. "We will meet..." He fumbled, trying to think of a place where they weren’t likely to run into other Skeksis. "At... at the border of the Crystal Sea, north of the castle. We'll meet there tomorrow, and _end _this."

"Very... well." UrGoh straightened himself, his image within the Crystal appearing frighteningly tall. "So... we shall."

The two regarded each other for a moment, neither of them moving. Finally skekGra clicked his beak. "So um. Get out."

UrGoh raised a brow.

"You heard me!” skekGra said. “We have our meeting set. I'll be there. Now _go_!" He waved his free hands in a _shoo_ing motion. "You'd better, um, get a head start." He glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting the blasted Chamberlain to be standing behind him.

"The Conqueror... seems... _worried_."

"Do you want us to be seen?!" skekGra hissed. "The other Skeksis won't be happy to see you here!"

"Won’t... they?" urGoh asked, and before skekGra could answer, he opened his mouth wide, his throat droning what was quite possibly the worst sound skekGra had heard in his long, long life.

Covering his ears, skekGra hissed at him. "What are you _doing?!_ Are you nuts?" Still the Mystic went on, and skekGra raised his voice as high as he dared. "If the other Skeksis see us, I'll face punishment—and so will you!"

Finally the Mystic shut up, glaring down at skekGra. "I am not afraid... of punishment. I have borne... the same pains... you have... and I am not afraid... of more."

"You would be," skekGra whispered, turning away, "if you knew..."

The Mystic let out a snort. "I hope... the Conqueror... is not afraid... of our meeting, the way he fears... punishment."

"I fear _nothing_!"

He rounded back on the Crystal, but it was just that—urGoh's face had vanished. Staring at it for a few moments, he sighed, finally turning away. "Stupid lunatic," he muttered.

A loud _clack _echoed throughout the chamber, like metal smacking against stone, and skekGra froze.

He knew that noise.

"And _whom_, exactly, are you talking to?"

He knew that voice.

Slowly, clutching his sword as though it were his lifeline, skekGra turned around to find the Emperor himself facing him from the entrance to the chamber, polishing stone dust from his scepter.

For the first time in his life, skekGra fervently wished the Chamberlain was by his side once more—if only to help him talk his way out of _this_ one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UrLii's characterization here is based on his characterization in the comics, since those were made with the show in mind.


	8. Their Harsh and Twisted Wills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Conqueror and the Wanderer must sort out their... similarities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hellooooo, Jaywings here. Sorry about the super long wait for this chapter, but as everyone knows things have been... strange. I hope it's worth the wait. We're really enjoying writing this story and I love the way it's been coming together! Thank you for reading, and hope you enjoy!
> 
> <s>Also stay tuned because BC is working on a fantastic illustration for this chapter that she'll be adding when she finishes it!</s> (BC's edit: The illustration is there now!)
> 
> Thank you to The-Prairie-Nerd for beta-reading!

The two Mystics stared at each other for a long time after the shard—and the Skeksis' voice—had fallen silent.

"The Wanderer... has quite a ways to wander," urLii remarked.

UrGoh heaved a great sigh, closing his hand around the false shard. "At the border... of the Crystal Desert..." he muttered. "He could not... have chosen someplace... _closer_…?"

"UrGoh had best get started, then." And before he could reply, the Storyteller was already making his way back to the boat that had carried them both across the underground lake. However, he paused, partially turning to glance back. "And urLii is sure that, should urGoh speak to his shadow again, he will not mention urLii or his home in these caves?"

UrGoh dipped his head obligingly. "I… will not divulge the Storyteller's secrets."

The other Mystic nodded and resumed his path to the boat. He was right, anyway—urGoh needed to head out _now_, in order to reach the desert on time for their meeting. But first...

The Gruenaks hadn't moved from the spot he'd found them. He hoped, with a sudden twist of his stomach, that they hadn't overheard his conversation. The last thing wanted was for them to hear the voice of the one who murdered their mate and father. But they seemed to be as calm as could be expected in their circumstances; in fact, they were now hesitantly sipping at the broth they'd been provided. When urGoh approached, however, they both lowered their bowls and huddled closer.

"I will... be leaving again," he said, and paused, considering his next words as the two of them blinked up at him. "I will... do everything in my power... to make sure the Conqueror... never harms you... or your kind... again."

The mother gazed at him, and he wondered briefly if she had fully understood him. But she nodded slowly, and he thought he saw a hint of gratefulness in her weary eyes.

"Did the Wanderer lose his way already?" urLii's voice called from a distance, and urGoh finally turned away from the Gruenaks.

"No," he called in return. "I am... coming." With that, he marched back toward the shoreline, where urLii was waiting in the boat.

This time, he did not look at the shard in his hand; for once, he already had a destination in mind.

* * *

"E-Emperor!" skekGra cried, giving a belated bow. When he straightened himself, he was disappointed to find that Emperor skekSo did not appear any less displeased... or suspicious.

"Well?" skekSo said, raising his brows. "What are you doing in the Crystal Chamber at this hour? And to _whom _were you talking?"

"I was speaking… with m-myself!" he replied quickly. The ramifications of this choice of words hit him almost immediately and he stumbled over his own speech. "Th-that is to say, I was... practicing my next puppet show, my Emperor."

"Ah." The Emperor stared at him unblinkingly. "And where are your puppets?"

SkekGra balked. "They... h-have yet to be made, sire!" He fiddled with the handle of his sword, wincing when he realized he still held it, and turned himself at an angle to make the weapon less visible. "I wanted it to be a surprise, but... I was making a puppet of _you_, sire. But! I also wanted to practice in here, to make sure the... acoustics were good enough."

"...I see." SkekSo's gaze narrowed. "And that... _noise_?"

_Agh, curse that howling Mystic._

"A nurloc mating call," he said hastily, and inwardly cringed. "I was practicing it for a different show. I can do it again if you like—"

Holding out a talon, the Emperor shook his head. "No, _no_, that's quite enough." The taps of his scepter against the floor rang hollowly throughout the near-empty chamber as he circled closer to skekGra. "I would prefer you _not _hold your shows here, Conqueror."

"I... understand, sire." He drooped in what he hoped looked more like disappointment than the actual relief he was feeling. It sounded like skekSo had—

"I don't want random Skeksis milling about the Crystal Chamber unattended," the Emperor went on, stalking closer and keeping his eyes trained on skekGra, who froze up under his gaze. "Don't think I have not noticed your behavior as of late, skekGra. Even the Chamberlain has noticed."

SkekGra's tail curled at the mention of skekSil. What business _didn't _he stick his nosy beak into? "SkekSil has... n-no reason to worry about me, sire. I want nothing more than to serve you, and conquer all the lands of Thra in the name of—"

"Yes, conquering." SkekSo came to a stop between skekGra and the Crystal of Truth itself, as though shielding it. "Have you come to the Chamber to drain extra power from the Crystal, to aid you on your conquests?"

"What—no!" SkekGra staggered back, shaking his head. "Of course not, my Emperor, I would never—"

"Then why have you not been attending the rejuvenation ceremonies?" SkekSo's hardened stare was unwavering. "It seems to me you have been planning instead to draw your own power from the Crystal when no other Skeksis are around to witness it."

It took every bit of skekGra's willpower to keep himself from shaking. "No, Emperor, I promise you, that is _not _what I was doing!"

"Then why did you not attend the Ceremony of the Sun? Why do you avoid it?" SkekSo stood firm, leaning against his scepter, his neck craning forward. "What, Conqueror, are you _up _to."

It was not a question. It was a demand.

SkekGra drew in a breath. "Sire... I had tried to tell you before." Forcing himself to look the Emperor in the eyes, he steeled his will. "I was given a _vision_."

The grandiose statement hung in the air for a moment, before skekSo impatiently waved it aside.

"As grand as they may seem to _you_, your artistic visions hold no importance to—"

"It was a _literal vision_!" skekGra cried, unable to help himself. "I saw things! Images _Thra itself _forced into my mind! It gave me visions of the future!"

For a long while, skekSo regarded him, and in a flash skekGra wondered if he was wrong to do this, if skekTek had been correct and he should keep quiet. But he'd intended to tell the Emperor all along, had he not? This was bigger than himself; this concerned _all of Thra_, over which the Emperor had full reign. But skekSo did not speak, merely watching him, and skekGra found himself going on.

"Thra showed me a future in which it was devoid of life. In which every race was destroyed, the Gelfling slaughtered, and no green thing grew. And yet in the midst of it all... we Skeksis gorged ourselves, and drank to excess, and..." His voice faltered, and he lowered his head. He couldn't bear to describe the rest. "It showed me a future, Emperor, in which there was nothing on Thra left for you to rule."

"I see."

He dared not meet skekSo's gaze again, suddenly finding the half a soul within him gripped with terror.

"Do you recall, Conqueror, what Thra is?"

SkekGra blinked, looking up, his beak opening and closing a few times. He couldn't imagine what sort of answer the Emperor was expecting. "It... it is where we live, sire, it is what you—"

"Thra," skekSo said, and he began to walk in a great circle around skekGra, "is a primitive planet that _we _were sent to rebuild."

Tracking the Emperor's path, skekGra frowned; this hadn't been what he'd expected to hear. "I... I don't remember much of _those _days, Emperor." That was at least _one _truth he could give.

"Few do," skekSo replied, with what might have been sympathy, "and those who do shudder to think of it. There is good reason to forget those days. However..." He tilted his beak to skekGra, looking him in the eye. "We must not forget what we _accomplished _here, skekGra. The Crystal was unprotected, the Gelfling frolicked naked in the forests, and there was not a _trace _of proper civilization anywhere on the face of this rock... until _we _changed that."

SkekGra opened his beak to say something, but _what_? It mattered little anyway, for the Emperor went on:

"_We _built the castle. _We _showed the Gelflings how to construct cities. _We _brought them to subjection_. We _raised Thra from nothing but a primitive rock..."

He gestured with his scepter and all three of his other arms to the Crystal of Truth behind him, and the grand chamber that encompassed it.

"...to what it is now."

And finally he brought all four limbs down, his front arms clutching his scepter and striking it against the floor with a final, definite _clack_.

"What does _Thra _know of what it wants?"

The air was heavy around them, and skekSo's gaze was unwavering. The Crystal towered over him, and yet the Emperor seemed enormous still, his eyes glowing the same malevolent purple as the Crystal itself in the dark.

Unconsciously skekGra took a step back, and suddenly skekSo was striding past him as though he were nothing but a Podling-slave.

"You _will _attend the ceremony tomorrow, Conqueror. And if you speak a word of this to the others, there _will _be punishment. Something… hm… _permanent_."

SkekGra swallowed, and the Emperor glanced over his shoulder.

"And the Chamberlain will _not _be here to save you again."

And with that, he was gone, vanishing into the darkness of the castle.

SkekGra heard his sword clatter to the ground before he even felt his grip begin to slacken.

Whatever he decided to do about urGoh... he would have to keep it secret from the Emperor.

* * *

The rest of the night was spent in restless wakefulness. SkekGra wondered, vaguely, if he would ever feel like sleeping again. His double encounters in the Crystal Chamber had left his nerves frayed, like he was a piece of cloth scratched over a dull knife blade. His talons gave periodic twitches and he found himself merely pacing across the floor of his bedchamber, unable to focus on anything.

By first light, skekGra stopped moving in a daze, staring down at the partially-repaired masterwork of a painting he'd left on the floor. On impulse, he knelt down and took up the crushed-berry paint, hesitating for a moment; he flipped the painting over, rolled a thick paintbrush between his talons, and began making marks across the rough underside of the canvas.

Thoughts strung themselves through his head like an indecipherable tangle of finger-vines as he worked. His mind swam with images of dim caves and black lakes, glowing moss and glowing trees, blood both dark red and bright green… in the center of it all, the _Crystal_, and an infuriating Mystic…

He gave a start, suddenly realizing that the first Brother was climbing high in the sky. It was time to head back down for the ceremony, if he hoped to appease skekSo. Turning the painting back over, he propped it gently against the wall to let it dry, sheathed his sword at his side out of habit, and headed out of the room once again.

His arrival time was carefully calculated; taking up his ceremonial staff from where it had been left for him by Gelfling servants and finding it as untarnished as the rest of his equipment, neatly cleaned and polished from its trip out to the caves and back, he found the line of Skeksis trudging their way toward the Crystal Chamber and slipped into the middle of it.

"Ssssslime-feeder!" skekShod hissed at him, and skekGra realized he had nearly trodden on the Treasurer's tail.

Behind him, skekLach let out a dark laugh. "Well, well, look who's decided to join us again at last. Stomping over us as usual."

"Enough chattering back there!" skekZok called sharply from somewhere up ahead. "The Ceremony of the Sun is a solemn occasion!"

SkekGra let himself fall silent and was relieved to have the others follow suit as they filed into the Chamber and took their places in a circle around the Crystal.

He spotted both skekSo and skekSil casting narrow-eyed glances in his direction and carefully pretended not to notice, shifting so that he could stare unblinkingly at the darkened Crystal of Truth. It rippled with purple light but revealed no images within. How had the Wanderer managed to contact him through it?

His heart clenched. What if the idiot decided to appear _again? _SkekGra glanced hastily from side to side, hoping his fears weren't evident on his face. He used to be a master at hiding his emotions, though in recent days the skill seemed to be slipping.

As the suns rose and skekZok spread his arms to welcome the Brothers in their zenith, the Crystal shone with violet light directed into the waiting eyes of each Skeksis. The achingly familiar surge of energy warmed skekGra's body and he allowed himself to relax, his talons flexing against the staff he carried, breathing in the cleansing, strengthening light from the Crystal.

This was their _home_. Thra itself gave them new life each day. And yet, according to the Great Tree in the Grottan caves, the Skeksis were doomed to contaminate their world and must _destroy themselves_ to prevent this. How could Thra bless the Twice-Nine in one breath, and curse them in the next?

SkekGra blinked quickly, his grip on the staff tightening again as he wondered, suddenly, whether skekSo had been _right_.

He stood numb with disbelief as the suns continued on their arc through the sky and the Crystal's light faded, the tightly-knit group of Skeksis breaking up to shuffle on their separate ways. The ceremony had gone without incident—even the Emperor and the Chamberlain paid him no mind as they left the chamber in step with each other. So why did his heart feel frozen and brittle, like it might shatter if it pounded any harder? Why had the Crystal's light left him feeling… strong, yes, but scraped out, hollow?

SkekGra shook his head and hastily looked around until he caught sight of skekTek, who had meandered over to inspect a lever that had been installed on the wall.

"Scientist!" he called quietly as he approached, wary of the few straggling Skeksis still meandering about. "I need to talk to you."

SkekTek looked up, scowling. "What _now_, Conqueror? Surely you can see I'm presently unavailable for your manner of perfunctory diversion—?"

He trailed off, looking skekGra in the face and scrutinizing him with the same intensity that skekSo had shown the previous night. Realization seemed to strike at once, as his beak gaped and his eyes flashed. "You _told_ the _Emperor_, didn't you!"

SkekGra tensed, casting a hasty glance over his shoulder. "Er!... Very perceptive. Perhaps we shouldn't talk here."

"Perhaps we should not converse at _all_, as you seem intent on ignoring my advice!" The Scientist snapped his beak, his eyes narrowed to livid slits. "I knew I was unparalleled in terms of intellect, but I had no idea I was the only Skeksis with any amount of common sense as well!"

"Ooh, look!" the Ornamentalist said nearby, and skekGra jerked his head up in horror to see skekEkt watching them with glittering eyes. "The Conqueror and the Scientist are fighting!"

"Planning to start more fires, Conqueror?" skekOk asked wryly.

"Yes, among _your_ scrolls!" skekGra shot back. What were they even still doing here? With an agitated look at the Scientist, he muttered, "forget it," and turned to march out of the chamber, feeling his skin prickle with several sets of interested eyes watching him leave. It had been foolish to try to seek help from skekTek again—he'd only succeeded in attracting the attention of every Skeksis left in the room.

His pace slowed as he got further from the Chamber, his thoughts drifting. He'd promised to meet urGoh at the border of the Crystal Desert today. SkekGra scraped his talons down the stone wall, grinding his teeth together.

"I suppose I don't have any other choice," he said to himself, darkly. How had it come to this? Meeting with a _Mystic?_

"Conqueror," a sharp voice said.

Startled, skekGra whirled around, bracing himself—but it was skekTek. The Scientist must have followed him out.

"I assume you had a reason for nearly shouting your secrets in the middle of the Crystal Chamber," skekTek said, stopping in front of him. He still looked irritated, though skekGra was beginning to suspect that that was the Scientist's default expression.

He sighed. "I did tell skekSo. He more-or-less cornered me to demand answers for my behavior lately, and telling him about the vision… seemed like a good idea at the time."

SkekTek visibly rolled his eyes, pushing past skekGra and growling, "_All_ ideas seem like 'good' ideas _at the time_."

He glanced back, jerking with his beak for skekGra to follow. "But there's no sense in sniveling over slopped milk dumplings. What did the Emperor say in response to your ludicrous claims?"

SkekGra closed his eyes, massaging his head with his fingers. "He said exactly what you'd think he'd say."

"Yes…" skekTek's breath hissed through his teeth. "I was planning to investigate this. You understand you have just made that _substantially _more difficult."

"That wasn't my intention," skekGra said, peeling his hand away again. "I hadn't meant to tell him, after your advising." Or, well, not this _soon, _anyway.

SkekTek's hardened gaze drifted to the side. "_Hrm_. We'd best hope the Emperor does not speak to the sniveling Chamberlain on this matter, for both of our sakes," he muttered darkly.

SkekGra barely managed to repress a shudder. As bad as skekSo's response had been, he was sure things would be _infinitely _worse if skekSil learned what he'd shared.

"How did the Emperor succeed in trapping you, anyway?" the Scientist went on, cocking his head at skekGra and narrowing his eyes. "Did he barge into your sleeping quarters and grasp you by the neck until you spoke?"

"What? No, I was... um. I was..." He cast a glance around the hallway, making certain he was safe from eavesdroppers this time, and lowered his voice, "I was in the Crystal Chamber, in the middle of the night."

"And what could you possibly hope to accomplish there at such a preposterous hour?"

"Only, er... practicing my puppetry, of course. I'd had plans to do a show in the—"

"You are not speaking with an imbecile, Conqueror," skekTek said flatly, his lips curling to show fangs.

SkekGra hesitated, his talons clicking together and his tail curling behind him. "Very well. I heard the Crystal call." He swallowed. "Only to me, apparently."

The sarcastic-but-suspicious expression on the Scientist's face immediately dropped, and he stared at skekGra for a long while, his look unreadable. SkekGra would have felt uncomfortable, had the Scientist's reaction not been so _bewildering_. He opened his beak, but skekTek cut him off.

"The Crystal... called... to _you_."

"Yes," skekGra said, nodding slowly. "It did."

He wondered, briefly, if skekTek was angry with him—or _jealous_, perhaps?—but the Scientist regained his composure, grunting and turning around. "Come with me."

For a moment skekGra considered telling him he had an appointment to keep. (_"With whom?" _he could just imagine skekTek sneering. _"The Ascendency, come to offer their immediate surrender?_") He quickly tossed that idea, and simply followed the other Skeksis with no comment. Mystics were supposed to be patient, weren't they? If by some miracle the Wanderer got to the meeting point before he did, the thing could stand to wait a while. An entire ninet, maybe.

SkekTek, to skekGra's lack of surprise, led him straight back down to the Chamber of Life, and immediately began rifling through some books on a table. "You are _quite _certain that the Crystal addressed _you alone_?"

"I think so," skekGra answered, stepping up to the other side of the table and examining the mess of pages for himself. It all looked to him like nothing but meaningless numbers and symbols. "No one else showed up."

"Except the Emperor."

"Yes, but I don't think he was called. He didn't come until... after."

"_After_," skekTek repeated, settling over a book written in a hasty scrawl skekGra could not hope to read. "After the Crystal showed you something."

"That's right." SkekGra felt a chill crawl up his spine, suddenly realizing what the Scientist would ask of him next. "But—"

"And _what_," skekTek went on, "did it _show _you?"

And... there it was. SkekGra's talons grasped the edge of the table, and he stared down at them. Bandages still bound his hands, though the burns hurt a great deal less, now. "It... showed me..." He hesitated, unsure how he could put this in a way that would not make him sound like he was betraying his own kind, like he was going against his own Emperor, like he was a...

"Well? Out with it. Some of us have matters of significant importance to attend to in the near future."

"It..." He shook his head, and scraped his talons into the table. "It showed me my other half."

"_UrRu_?" the Scientist said, and skekGra tensed, preparing to defend himself. But skekTek only shuddered, making a sound of disgust. "...You wouldn't be the first."

SkekGra released his breath in a rush of air, trying to relax his hold on the table.

And then gave a start, knocking the desk and sending sheafs of paper flying, eliciting an irritated _squawk _from skekTek.

"What do you mean, _not the first_?"

"You ungainly blockhead!" skekTek sputtered, hurriedly grabbing up the papers again. "What do you _think _I meant?"

"I... have _you _seen visions in the Crystal as well?"

The Scientist let out a deep sigh, heaving his work back onto the table. "I experiment daily with the Crystal," he began. "Trine upon trine have I done so. And before I could pull the Crystal into my laboratory to study it here, I would visit the Crystal Chamber to examine it and learn what I could. Often I visited at night, when all other Skeksis slumbered unaware."

"And it... showed you things?" skekGra gasped.

"Indeed. There were times when I would see vague shadows within the Crystal if I stared long enough, and I was able to ascertain that these were not merely the tricks of unreliable, organic eyes." He tapped beneath his right eye with a talon. "Sometimes if I concentrated enough, I could force the Crystal to show me sights from the far corners of Thra, farther than even _you _have traveled, Conqueror."

SkekGra's beak gaped, and he found an odd sense of envy stirring up within him at the concept. What other civilizations lie on this rock? What other creatures that he had yet to see?

"I recorded whatever I saw in my notes. But the Crystal was not merely to be used as a telescope," skekTek went on. "Though I would have preferred it _stayed _that way. It seems the Heart of Thra has a mind of its own... of sorts."

_Oh, more than you know_.

"After some time, it began to show me something I had no desire to see whatsoever." The Scientist's lips curved into a snarl. "It showed me visions of four hands at work, performing experiments, similar to my own but... _cowardly_. Uninterested in the results. It showed me... the _Alchemist_."

The name seemed like a vile taste on skekTek's tongue, and he shuddered as he spoke it.

"Your Mystic," skekGra breathed. "The... the Crystal showed you your Mystic."

"Yes," skekTek grunted. "It did. Annoyingly often, despite my protests."

"Did... the Alchemist ever _speak _to you?"

SkekTek frowned down at the page before him, smoothing over a small tear with the flat side of his claw. "I heard that horrible humming racket from his overlong throat, and some mutterings, but the creature never addressed me."

"...How long has this been going on?" skekGra ventured, edging along the table to move closer to the Scientist.

"It _went_ on for far longer than it should have," skekTek snapped, finally slamming his book closed. "I proclaimed to the Crystal that if _he _was all it would show me, I would _personally_ splinter further shards from it until it dared not defy the will of its Lords any longer." The Scientist blinked. "After that, it ceased showing me images of _any_ kind."

"...I see." SkekGra took a step back. For some reason, his chest felt oddly heavy.

"If it is doing the same to you, you may be wise to put it in its place, as I have." He tipped his head. "Or let it go on. Perhaps it may show you something of _interest _if you let it have its way."

"Yes..." skekGra said, lowering his head. "That is something to consider."

SkekTek peered at him shrewdly. "And... this was all it showed, Conqueror?"

He nodded. "Just the Wanderer, nothing more."

"Hm." After a moment, skekTek clicked his beak. "It seems for some reason or other, the Crystal has put us in similar situations. As _we _seem to be the only ones, I _suppose_ you are welcome to speak to me of this matter should it continue, skekGra." He swished his tail briefly, lowering his head. "It feels beneficial to... tell another of such things."

The sudden, palpable relief that swept through skekGra at this declaration almost took his breath away. The decision to confide in skekTek had been an uncertain one from the beginning. But now he felt that, at last, he had an _ally_—someone who wouldn't mock, like skekVar, or pry, like skekSil, or demean and threaten, like even the Emperor.

"Thank you, skekTek," he said. "That is… good to hear."

The Scientist eyed him for a moment. "Of course, if you should receive… _further_ visions, from the Crystal or otherwise, you must bring them to me forthwith."

SkekGra's eyes narrowed slightly. And now his one ally, the weakling _Scientist_, was giving him orders.

"Of course," he replied, in a somewhat cool tone. "After all, you're the expert."

The other Skeksis' face folded once more in a glare. "And you would do well to remember that."

* * *

SkekGra had been dreading the walk to the desert. He longed to take a carriage or similar comfortable travel, but he could not afford the others to miss the transport when they were already suspicious of him. _Especially_ when the Emperor had all but forbidden him to partake in any further conquests, for an indefinite length of time.

He passed quickly over the leaf litter and springy green plants that coated the forest floor, his feet taking practiced steps to avoid the slightest crunch on a dead leaf, his dragging tail and robes equally soundless save for a slight rustle that matched the wind. He breathed deeply, the chilled breeze bringing scents of the forest to his nostrils, his lips curling when he also detected the sour stench clinging to his own robes.

In a rapid change of his initial plan, he had taken the opportunity of being brought down to skekTek's laboratory to slip into the catacombs—rather that than leaving the castle through the main entrance, where he would be seen by the guards as well as anyone else who happened to glance in that direction. Down in the labyrinthine catacombs below the castle, he was able to creep along undetected and squeeze out through the ancient Teeth of Skreesh carved into the cliff face, landing with a small splash in the slow-moving creek below.

This had come with consequences, of course. The dark, looming stone walls, the musty smells, the muffled echoes of running water and skittering crawlies that rang in his ears—it all reminded him forcefully of the Grottan tunnels. He had finally clambered out of there in relief, only to soak in the warm light of the suns outside and realize that the escape had left the hem of his robes drenched in foul-smelling water and waste flushed from the castle.

Wonderful, now he could trek all day through the Dark Wood and arrive to meet his self-righteous counterpart while smelling like a long-dead fish.

He rolled his shoulders irritably. Well, it wasn't as though he and the idiot Mystic could think any _less_ of each other. At least skekGra wasn't planning on going out of his way to alert others about their communications, as the wretched Wanderer had last night. And as he was probably doing now. SkekGra scraped his nails along his palms, biting back the roiling ball of fury in his chest.

Imagine the creature making his ear-rattling howling noise right there in the Crystal Chamber, bringing none other than the blasted _Emperor_ down on them and nearly getting them caught speaking to one another. Out of _spite_. He ground his teeth together.

Today they would _end_ this.

The sick, anxious feeling that had taken up residence in his gut over the past few days seemed to intensify as the hours passed and he continued to walk, checking both his position and the time by the shape of the three Brothers and the angle of the shadows cast by towering trees. He was unused to traveling for so long by foot over mulchy, uneven ground, but he could at least be thankful that it wasn't raining this time. He gripped his sword tightly, a pair of knives clenched in his secondary hands.

No beasts bothered him. The air was strangely quiet, absent of the stirrings of small forest creatures—likely too afraid of the clear predator stalking lightly through their wood, he mused. If anything dared show its face to him, he merely let out a low, rattling hiss, and it vanished again. He was _Skeksis_—nothing native to this forest could bring any harm to him.

His eyes darted quickly from side to side, lingering on the deeper shadows for the slightest movement or out-of-place form. There was, of course, one phantom known to haunt these woods that he _did_ fear a confrontation with, and his grip on his sword tightened all the more. It would be best not to be out here after dark.

SkekGra's breath seemed to come easier once the clustered trees and pines began to thin out and leaf dirt transitioned to grass, with rocky hills rising steeply to his left. Tall, reddish shapes stood out against the cloudy horizon, a pale, shimmering line in the distance. The light was dying—the first sun was about to set. He let out a sigh, shuffling one foot through the springy grass. At this rate he wouldn't reach the desert before nightfall.

Suddenly he wondered if he had already been missed back at the castle. SkekSo and skekSil would almost definitely be sniffing around. He imagined them side-eyeing his empty spot at the banquet table tonight. There would be yet more questions upon his return. How was he to answer them? It was getting more and more difficult to come up with plausible excuses.

_Plausible excuses such as 'imitating a nurloc mating call_,' he thought, wincing slightly.

Steeling himself, he continued on, as the day's warmth faded and the air began to chill his skin. One by one, the suns sank over the horizon, the three Sisters rising in their stead, and strange noises seemed to echo at him from every side. Chirps, low howls, rustling. SkekGra let out a growl, his long tail swishing the grass, and the noises ceased. It was only after several minutes of this that he decided silence was much _worse_.

The tense knot of anxiety in his chest now threatened to overtake him; his skin prickled, the spines on his back rising, his eyes flicking from side to side and struggling to make out anything in the darkness.

Was that the swish of robes along the ground? The telltale _shwing_ of a sword being drawn? Had someone followed him from the Castle? No, that was ridiculous, no one among the Skeksis could pursue _him_ without detection, not out here in the wilderness of his own domain, no one except—

_Snap._

Heart pounding, skekGra whirled with a hiss, lips drawn back to reveal jagged fangs, and stood at his fullest height with his sword posed to strike. "_Reveal yourself!_"

For a moment, there was no sound save for the quiet chirping of insects and the wind stirring the scant vegetation. SkekGra peered through the darkness, sword at the ready, hardly able to distinguish individual shapes in the deep shadows along the landscape.

Then, a low voice spoke up.

"Careful… with that… Or you may hurt yourself."

A lumpy boulder standing near him stirred, watching him with dark eyes and unfurling four long arms and a heavy tail. SkekGra bit back a shocked yelp, stumbling backward a step. In an instant he readjusted his stance and pointed the tip of the sword directly between the Mystic's baleful, blinking eyes.

"_You_," skekGra rasped, eyes narrowed in hatred. The cretin had disguised itself as a boulder to deceive him in the darkness _yet again_. "I've had enough of that trick!"

The Mystic's brow furrowed. "What… trick?"

With a loud _snort_ rivaling those of even the General, skekGra turned with a flick of his tail and hunted along the ground for stray branches and dry kindling. When the Mystic neglected to move, he snapped, "Well, help me build a fire! It's freezing out here, and I'll not talk until I can see my enemy _clearly_."

The eyes set deep in the Mystic's long face narrowed as well. "So… the murdering scourge of Thra… is afraid… of _me_."

"_Distrust_ does not equal _fear_," skekGra replied, his tone clipped. He glared at the other creature until it finally obliged, bending down slowly to hunt for firewood as well. The two of them seemed to walk in spiraling circles around each other, both refusing to turn their back on the other. When they had found a few handfuls each, skekGra snatched the kindling from the Mystic's hand and set to work building a fire. There were pieces of flint in his pockets, which he pulled out and struck. Nothing happened.

"Hmmm," the Wanderer said, somewhat sardonically. "Perhaps you have… lost your touch. Especially since it seemed… this humble, lumbering Mystic… snuck up on you."

SkekGra clacked the two pieces of flint together harder than he meant to, showering a spray of sparks across the ground but not managing to light anything except for the hem of urGoh's robes.

"Not… again…" the Mystic murmured, stamping out the smoking fabric before it ignited properly.

SkekGra scowled at him, his eyes shooting poison. "It's _sneaked."_

The Mystic slowly looked up. "What did you… say?"

"It's _sneaked_, not _snuck_. Idiot."

"...Ohh." The Mystic blinked. "I see the mighty Conqueror… has traded in his sword… for a far deadlier weapon: _grammar_."

The jibe should have made him angry, and it nearly did, but skekGra almost found himself choking back a laugh instead. That was... quicker wit than he expected of a Mystic. But—no, what was he doing? He was talking with an _enemy!_ With a growl, he struck the flint together again, finally igniting the campfire. Now that their meeting spot had a light source that was slowly but steadily growing brighter, he could see the amusement in the other creature's eyes—clearly proud of his own joke.

"Now is _not _the time for jests," skekGra muttered.

"For one who... bears much armor... the famous Conqueror... has a fragile ego."

One of skekGra's claws scraped against the flint as he pocketed it, chipping its edge. "I do _not!_" But realizing he'd raised his voice, he cast a cautious glance at their surroundings, making sure a familiar phantom was not nearby. "That's not what I'm upset about," he went on, quieter. "The Hunter roams between the forest and the desert, and I'd rather we wrap this up before he rears his masked head."

"Oh." The Mystic stared down at the fire, his amused expression melting into a somber one. "The Archer's... shadow."

"What?" SkekGra blinked, then shook his head. "Nevermind, it would probably take you all night to explain." He leaned in closer, careful to keep the hem of his robes away from the flames. "We need to discuss what we came here for, and then _leave_."

The Wanderer breathed out slowly, embers scattering in the wake of his sigh. "And you think... we can take care of this... in one night?"

"I don't know! Let's just get on with it." His tail gave an impatient _swish_, and it unnerved him to see the Mystic's tail tip mirror the motion. "Do you remember what I told you last night?"

"Yes..." Now the creature's face fell, his head dipping. "I do not wish... to hear it again."

"Yes, well. That's our future, apparently." He leaned back, taking a seat on a nearby stone and frowning when a sharp corner of it dug into his leg. "Or did _your_ vision say otherwise?"

"My vision..." The Mystic turned away from the fire, his gaze slowly traveling up to the stars. SkekGra followed it, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. "I... saw the heavens... and I saw Thra."

"And _maps_?" skekGra tipped his head. "Didn't you mention that?"

"...Yes... and... maps." He lowered his head again. "I saw... the heavens... and maps... and—"

"Yes, we established that. Can you go any faster?"

The Mystic blinked, then slowly, _slowly_ turned his head back toward skekGra. "I... can..."

_Oh, Aughra's eye._

"...go... as..."

"Are you serious?"

"...fast... as..."

"As you like, yes, I get it!"

"I..."

"YES! I understand!"

"..._like_."

In spite of the consequences of the action, the thought of strangling the Mystic was quite tempting at the moment. The tip of his tail flicked.

"Now... as I was saying..." The Wanderer glanced up at the sky again. "I saw... the heavens... and the suns... close to aligning themselves..."

"The Great... what's it. Conjunction?" skekGra offered, glad to finally be getting somewhere.

"...Yes. That was... it. I also saw... Thra... as a map. The Gelfling... civilizations... were torn away..."

An image of bloody battlefields flashed across skekGra's mind, and he blinked hard, staring into the fire to try to rid himself of the thought.

"But... later... the map pieces were... put together." The Mystic joined each pair of his own hands thoughtfully. "Not where they were... before... but grouped together... in one... place."

"...Is that all?" SkekGra reared his head back. "_You _got off easy."

"No... that is not... all..." Now the Wanderer parted his hands, and only then did skekGra notice that he clutched something in one of them. The Mystic held the object closer to his face, letting it glint in the firelight. "I saw... the Crystal... and... _felt _it."

"Felt it? What did it feel like?"

"Pain... emptiness... and... _incompleteness_." He thumbed the object in his hand, then closed his fist around it. "It is... fractured."

"You only just noticed?" skekGra snapped, only to pause—it was easy to forget that other beings didn't have ready access to the Crystal like the Skeksis did. "It's been fractured since you creatures left."

"Yes," urGoh said solemnly. "Have you... not thought... that it needed... to be _healed_?"

SkekGra hissed in a breath. _No, because if it were fully healed, we would be unable to take in its power, and we would die._

"...It... never occurred to me," he lied.

The Wanderer gave him a hard look, and skekGra cleared his throat. "So... what, we're supposed to heal the Crystal?"

"Yes... and help... the Gelfling..." The Mystic's gaze hardened further. "Unless... that is beyond you."

"I'm not opposed to helping the Gelfling!" skekGra cried, indignant. "What do you _think _I was doing in those blasted caves?!"

"Murdering... innocents?"

SkekGra rose to his feet, all four fists clenched. "_I spared them_!"

"You... spared... _two_." UrGoh was shaking, and so was he. "Two... of the _hundreds_... that fell by your swords—"

"_I KNOW!_" he screamed.

He knew he had to be quiet, he knew he could be endangering himself if he was seen, but he could not stop, the words tumbling from his beak as he paced before the fire and before his other half. "You think I'm not aware of what I've done?! I killed so many! More than skekUng or skekVar! I made paint of their blood, puppets of their corpses! I did it with _every _creature I conquered! Every race! And when I'm not being repeatedly afflicted by sickening visions of the Crystal's design, I'm seeing _them_! I'm seeing their blood on my swords, my claws, on _me_!"

And he rounded on the Wanderer once again, his eyes burning as bright as the fire between them.

"And it's because of _you_. _You _did this to me!" His talons clenched and unclenched, raised and shaking in rage. "Ever since you did—you did—_whatever _in Thra's name you did to me, I haven't been able to _stop _thinking about that stupid, rotten Gruenak I beheaded in those caves, or his mate and his child that saw it!"

His chest heaved in harsh gasps and his eyes burned in the smoke and heat of the fire.

"Does it bring you _joy_ to know what you have done to me, Wanderer?"

UrGoh stared at him silently, unmoving, the fire casting dark shadows across his face and form. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "You believe yourself... to be the only one... unchanged?"

SkekGra's arms lowered. "What?"

"In these few days... I have felt... more _anger_... toward you... and your kind... and my own kind... than I have ever felt... in my hundreds of trine."

The Mystic was, skekGra suddenly noticed, trembling again.

"I had not felt it... until _you _touched me."

"_You_ were the one to grab me," skekGra said, but the rage had gone from his voice. He paused. "Is anger really so terrible?"

The Wanderer opened his mouth, but faltered.

"Anger at incompetence leads you to taking matters into your own claws," skekGra continued. "Anger at others leads you to confront them. This is how the world _functions_." His tail swished one way, then the other, and he turned aside. "At least you don't have this horrible, nagging, endless... _something_... that keeps reminding you of—"

"Guilt."

The word ripped the air from his lungs, and he clutched a talon to his chest. "No."

_But you've already known_, something within him said. Something that sounded alarmingly like the slothful being before him._You knew it the moment you felt it._

"You feel... _guilty... _Conqueror."

"No!" he cried, his talons moving to clutch his head. "Skeksis don't feel _guilt_!"

"And urRu... do not... feel anger."

Silence hung between them, and even the fire seemed to quiet, sensing the gravity of the situation.

"We have... been changed."

SkekGra swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "I don't want to change." He swallowed again, his tongue sticking to his mouth, uncomfortably aware of how much he sounded like a pitiful childling. "I want t-to..."

"You want to... go back... to killing?"

In spite of his words, the simmering anger was absent from the Mystic's voice this time.

Head bowed toward the ground, skekGra felt hollowed, bloody, raw; half of him heated in the flickering firelight, the other part, shadowed, shivering like brittle ice.

"I… I am skekGra the Conqueror," he said, without looking up. His voice was a rasp. "For over five hundred trine I have wounded, I've maimed, I've killed. And now you come to me? _Now_ is when Thra chooses to speak, to threaten _everything_ I have ever worked for and achieved?" He whipped his head up, eyes flashing in the firelight. "My honor is already being questioned, ever since the battle with the Gruenaks where _you_ decided to show your stupid long neck and make me—"

He broke off, breathing hard.

UrGoh the Wanderer watched him through narrowed eyes, unmoved. "I… was not aware… that the Skeksis had honor."

SkekGra scraped his teeth together, letting the insult slide with no comment. "I am being _watched_, you should know. The Emperor is suspicious of me, the Scientist probably knows too much, if he chooses to speak. The General noticed my absences in two consecutive battles. SkekMal will hunt us both for sport if he finds us out here. And the Chamberlain will haunt my every step until he's convinced of where my loyalties lie, either with the Skeksis… or against them."

"And… where _do_ they… lie?" urGoh asked quietly.

The tips of skekGra's talons twitched. "I am Skeksis."

UrGoh let out a frustrated huff. "Then this meeting… will get us nowhere."

"Particularly since Thra itself seems to be calling our kinds to _unite_," skekGra hissed through his teeth. There was an uncomfortable, fizzling silence, like the feeling in the air after a bolt of lightning strikes.

Words rang in skekGra's head, as clearly as though someone were speaking them directly into his ear.

"_What does Thra know of what it wants?_"

"Well…" urGoh said, slowly once again, apparently weighing every word. "Of course… we are not doing… _that_."

Suddenly, unexpectedly, a surge of defiance ripped through skekGra, leaping from his tongue in the form of a one-word demand. "_Why?_"

The Mystic stared at him with brows raised, the fire dancing in his dark eyes. SkekGra himself was just as taken aback by his own outburst, but he scarcely let it show, instead pacing back and forth in front of the fire again with his hands clasped firmly behind his back and his tail swishing over the gritty rock, brushing up against knotty tufts of grass that sprung up among the stone here and there.

"Have you been seeing them?" he asked, his voice harsh, his eyes flicking to settle on urGoh. "Visions in the waking world? Things…" he hesitated, but then forged ahead, "_changing_ before your very eyes?"

He blinked quickly, preemptively, to dispel the images before they came, but they came anyway. _The land through the carriage window ravaged and blackened by glowing purple veins. SkekVar's face crumbling to dust. The Scientist bearing an empty, bloodied eye socket. Dark blood pooling from a strange wound on urGoh's head..._

The Mystic had his head tilted very slightly. "I… suppose," he said, and he gave an almost imperceptible glance at the ground where his flickering shadow was cast.

SkekGra snaked his hand back out and pressed his talons to his chest, where his heart—or whatever shred of blackened tissue he might have in place of it—beat in an almost convulsive manner. "They won't stop." The certainty weighed on him like stone. "If we don't do what the stupid planet wants us to do, we won't stop seeing these… _things_."

UrGoh stirred slightly, rumpling the woven coat on his back and the frayed cloak that lay over his shoulders, perhaps trying to warm himself up. "Then… they don't stop," he said, in a voice as nonchalant as though he had simply looked up to pass comment on the moons.

To outside eyes, it would almost appear as though skekGra had barely moved at all.

His talons were already dripping dark blood, his robes slightly singed and his face stinging like he'd been branded with hot coals, before he even registered what had happened. UrGoh looked stunned, his face now sporting long scratches that hadn't been there before.

"No more," skekGra found himself gasping, the words like razors in his throat. "I will put up with this _no more_. We will agree to Thra's demands if I have to take you by your ugly tail and—"

"A Skeksis... aligning with _Thra_?" urGoh said, seemingly unaware of the blood on his own face.

SkekGra faltered. "Of... of course we align with Thra. We make Thra align with _Skeksis_. It does as we see fit."

"Yet now... you are bowing... to its will."

A shudder ran down his spine. He brought a hand to his face, smearing his blood across his beak.

UrGoh's tail dragged closer around his body as he regarded skekGra. "Perhaps... this will get... somewhere... after all." He paused. "..._Ouch_, by the… way."

Shakily skekGra sank back onto the stone he'd sat upon earlier, impatiently dabbing at the claw marks in his own face. "Are you a pouting infant? These are shallow. They won't even leave scars."

The Mystic's brow furrowed again. "Hmph. As you… say." He shook his head, tossing his mane. "I want this... no more than you."

"Yes." SkekGra flexed his talons; they felt sticky with blood (whose, he no longer knew). "We'll... play along, for now. Only until that blasted rock leaves us be."

"Hm." The Wanderer sat back, staring into the fire. "And how... do we plan... to do that?"

"I don't know."

The two remained silent, skekGra's vision blurring as his thoughts turned inward, reflecting on what he had just agreed to.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he heard a strange _huff_. Blinking, he looked up, bewildered to find urGoh smiling into the flames. "What?"

"Oh." The Wanderer's smile faded and he blinked slowly. "I was... remembering something."

"Is it anything useful to our current situation?" skekGra mumbled, leaning his jaw against his knuckles.

"No." UrGoh shook his head from side to side, and the smile returned. "This place... reminds me of another fire I sat around... many trine ago."

"You don't say."

"I was with... Gelfling... for _your _kind had not caused them... to fear us yet." As the Mystic turned his head upward in memory, skekGra's gaze was downcast toward the ashes on the ground. "They were... telling a story."

_As they often do. _His vision grew unfocused again as he remembered the Gelfling battalions he would lead, and how the soldiers would tell each other tales to keep themselves entertained on long journeys. SkekGra had rarely paid attention—Gelfling stories were not nearly so interesting as his own conquests... or so he'd thought at the time, anyway.

"It was a story... of how the Gelfling maiden... obtained her wings..."

Snorting, skekGra shifted where he sat. Gelflings were the sole intelligent race with the ability to fly, a useful tactic in battle. He'd never particularly cared _why_ the females had wings when the males did not. It had always seemed to have a strange logic to it. But something nagged at him and he blinked, lifting his head slightly. "I think I did hear that one."

"The songteller said... the maiden's wings were forged... from hollerbats..." The amusement in the Mystic's voice was evident. "But the others... cut him off... and they argued..."

"Yes," skekGra said, his mouth quirking in a small smile. "The one argued that her wings were made from cragraptor feathers."

"And another said... his mother's version was..."

UrGoh fell silent abruptly.

Frowning, skekGra raised his head. "Was what?"

The Wanderer stared back at him, sheer confusion clouding his gaze. "You... were not present."

"What are you on about?" He straightened himself, the tip of his tail flicking indignantly. "I remember this. The Gelfling all got into a fight over whose story was right. And there was that little whiny one, who hadn't—"

"You... weren't... _there_..."

"Of course I was!" But now that he thought of it, why _would _he have been? Aside from the Makrak incident, when had Skeksis and Mystics ever met together peaceably? It wouldn't have been then, surely. He _knew _he hadn't been present for this incident. But then how...

Suddenly skekGra stared into urGoh's eyes, and urGoh into his, and all of Thra went still around them.

Something crackled up his back like electricity, and it chilled him, and yet... at the same time, there was _warmth, _warmth that had nothing to do with the fire. It filled him, more and more, until it was greater than himself, like nothing he had felt before...

No, he _had _felt it before. Trine upon trine ago, nearly past his memory, like he was... they were...

He blinked, and it was gone, leaving him empty and wanting.

The fire crackled before them.

"Oh," urGoh said simply, and his entire frame drooped, as though it had grown heavy. He was staring down at something in his hand, and there was a weariness in his eyes that had not been there before.

SkekGra realized he probably looked the same.

For a moment, he was tempted to look up into the stars, but he resisted, unsure what their light would remind him of and certain he didn't wish to know. "Perhaps... this will take more than one meeting to resolve," he admitted, staring stupidly at the ground.

"That... seems likely."

Having nothing else to say, skekGra heaved a sigh. Finding his mouth dry, he licked his fangs, only to wince at the sharp tang of blood that he had smeared on his face earlier. With it came a sudden memory—one far more recent and that had nothing to do with the Mystic before him—and he rose to his feet. "I have to get back to the castle," he said hurriedly.

"Why?"

"The others will miss me," skekGra said, already kicking dirt over the fire. "Especially the Emperor." Even this lumbering oaf must realize the danger they were putting themselves in.

"Thra... wishes for us all... to unify..."

"I_ know_." The flames now put out, he began hurrying back in the direction he'd come.

Frustratingly, urGoh dragged himself alongside him. "I don't think... we should approach... the Skeksis... about this..."

Sickness churned in his stomach. "Of _course _not!" he snapped. "Do you think I have a death wish?" He wrenched his head around as he walked, his back spines prickling with a sudden anxiety. "Speaking of, keep your voice down."

The Wanderer lowered his head and his voice, keeping up with skekGra's pace oddly well. "But what of… the Mystics?"

SkekGra barked out a dry laugh. "By all means, if you think your fellow snail-crawlers can be convinced…"

"We must... arrange... a meeting with them."

"Fine! Let's set it now, and then get away from me, before _someone _sees us."

UrGoh did not immediately answer, and skekGra lashed his tail impatiently—turning down to look at him, he found the Mystic studying his face carefully. Unnerved, skekGra faced forward again, straining to find his way in the moonlight.

Finally the Wanderer spoke: "Meet us..."

"Yes?"

"At the southern border..."

"_Yes?_"

"Of the Dark Wood..."

"Can it be _anywhere else_—?"

"...and the northern border..."

_"Now _what?"

"...of the Spriton Plains..."

"Seriously?"

"...where they meet the Black River."

"What?" He turned to look at the Mystic, but urGoh had already broken off in another direction. "Wait, why all the way out _there_?"

"You can... find your way... yourself."

"But why should—?!" SkekGra cut himself off; he was being too loud, and the Mystic probably wouldn't answer him anyway. Growling, he lowered his head, quickly rearranging his robes for what he would have to do.

In a few moments he had his robes tied back, and he lowered himself onto all fours, sprinting back toward the Dark Forest. This was _not _his preferred way of travel. His feet hurt from travel and his stomach ached for want of food. But the meeting had taken too long, and he could not be late for the Ceremony of the Sun.

Yet as he ran, his mind was not on what potential tortures awaited him if he failed to arrive, but rested instead with the strange, fire-lit meeting he'd so hastily left behind, and the creature he'd found himself forced into an uneasy alliance with.

Occasionally his thoughts were tempted to wander back to that moment, when they had gazed into one another through the flames with that spark of _oneness_, but he forcibly shoved it aside.

He was Skeksis. And this was temporary.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, if you're interested, this fic now has a (WIP) playlist! [Check it out.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1LQXgbgjXolxZERW9k4UXO?si=S-D2rCWyRReqp2cs1vH_qw)


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